. I

THE ALDINE EDITION

OF THE BRITISH

POETS

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THE POETICAL WORKS OP MARK AKENSIDE

THE POETICAL WORKS OF

MARK AKENSIDE

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ADVERTISEMENT.

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IprAHE present edition of Akenside's

Poetical Works is substantially
that prepared in 1834, by the Rev.
-ander Dyce, for Pickering's " Aldine
Edition of the British Poets. " The elegant
Memoir which lie prefixed is given entire,
and the few additions which seemed neces-
sary, have been appended as notes. Every
poem which could be traced to the author's
pen has been inserted; each, except The
Pleasures of Imagination, has been printed
from the edition which received the last re-
vision of the author ; and by strictly ad-
hering to it the greatest accuracy has been
secured.

" The Pleasures of Imagination' is here
printed as first issued in 1744, and also as
enlarged and published by Mr. Dyson, in
1772.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The Odes and Miscellaneous Poems have
also been printed from Mr. Dyson's edition,
with the exception of Ode ii. Book n., which is
taken from " Pearch's Collection of Poems ;"
" An Epistle to Curio" from the edition of
1744; " The Virtuoso" " Ambition and
Content" " The Poet" " A British Phi-
lippic" and " A Hymn to Science" from the
" Gentleman's Magazine;'' " Love, an Elegy "
from " The New Foundling Hospital for
Wit;" " To Cordelia," from an edition of
Akenside's Works, published at New Bruns-
wick, in 1808 ; mi" A Song," from " Ritson's
English Songs/' vol. i. The date and man-
ner of its first appearance has been added to
each of those published during the author's
lifetime.

By the kind permission of Mr. Murray of
Albemarle-street, three valuable letters, not
included in the former edition, have been in-
serted as an appendix to Mr. Dyce's Memoir
of the Poet.

CONTENTS.

I IFE of Akenside, by the Rev. Alex-
ander Dyce

The Pleasures of Imagination.
In three Books.

The Design

Book I

II

Ill

Notes on Book I

II V . . . .

Ill

The Pleasures of the Imagination. On an
enlarged plan.

General Argument

Book I

II

Ill

IV

Odes on several Subjects. In two Books.

Book I. Ode I. Preface

II. On the Winter Solstice . .
Ditto. As originally written

III. To a Friend, unsuccessful in
Love

IV. Affected Indifference
V. Against Suspicion . .

VI. Hymn to Cheerfulness .
VII. On the Use of Poetry .
VIII. On leaving Holland

IX. To Curio

X. To the Muse ....
XI. On Love, to a Friend
XII. To Sir Francis Henry
Drake, bart. . . .
XIII. On Lyric Poetry . .

Paze

1
5
23
46
65
70
74

83

84

106

127

143

147
149
153

155

157
158
161
166
167
171
177
178

181
1S4

CONTENTS.

Odes ok several Subjects. Pace
Book I. Ode XIV. To the Hon. Charles Towns-

hend 188

XV. To the Evening Star . . 190
XVI. To Caleb Hardinge, M.D. 193
XVII. On a Sermon against Glory 195
XVIII. To the Earl of Huntingdon 196
Book II. Ode I. The Remonstrance of Shake-
speare 205

II. To Sleep 208

III, To the Cuckoo ..... 211

IV. To the Hon. Charles Towns-

hend 212

V. On Love of Praise . . . . 218

VI. To William Hall, Esq. . . 220

VII. To the Bishop of Winchester 222

VIII 225

IX. At Study 226

X. To Thomas Edwards, Esq. . 228
XI. To the Country Gentlemen of

England 230

XII. On recovering from a Eit of

Sickness 236

XIII. To the Author of Memoirs of

the House of Bran.denburgh . 239

XIV. The Complaint 241

XV. On Domestic Manners . . 242

Notes on the Two Books of Odes 244

Hymn to the Naiads 248

Notes on the Hymn to the Naiads . . . . . 259

Inscriptions 268

An Epistle to Curio '. . . . 275

The Virtuoso 286

Ambition and Content. A Eable 289

The Poet. A Rhapsody 293

A British Philippic 298

Hymn to Science 303

Love, an Elegy 306

To Cordelia 310

Song 311

THE LIFE OF AKENSIDE/

BY THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE.

I ARK AKENSIDE2 was born at New-
castle - upon - Tyne, iSToveniber 9th,
1721, and was baptized on the 30th
of the same month by the minister
of a meeting-house, which his parents used to
frequent.3 His father, Mark, was a respectable
butcher.4 His mother's maiden name was Mary

1 During the earlier years of his life, the poet spelt his
name, both on the title pages of his publications and in
his letters, Akinside; but at a later period he adopted the
form Akenside.

2 "Mark Akenside, born the 9th November, 1721:
baptized ye 30th of the same month by the Rev. Mr.
Benjamin Bennet." — History of Newcastle, ii. 513, by
Brand, who adds : " The above was communicated by
Mr. Addison, glazier, at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, who mar-
ried Dr. Akenside's sister, and is in possession of some
drawings, which, were the works of that ingenious poet in
an early period of his life. Mr. Bennet was a dissenting
minister at the new meeting-house in Hanover Square*,
Newcastle-upon-Tyne."

3 According to the Blog, Brit., Akenside's " parents
and relations were in general of the Presbyterian persua-
sion."

4 " The Akenside family belonged to Eachwick in
Northumberland ; but his father was a reputable butcher

b

11 LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

Lumsden.1 He was their second son. It is said
that in after life he was ashamed of the lowness
of his birth, which was constantly brought to his
recollection by a lameness, originating in a cut
on his foot from the fall of his father's cleaver,
when he was about seven years old.

After receiving some instruction at the free-
school of Newcastle, he was sent to a private aca-
demy in the same town, kept by a Mr. Wilson, a
dissenting minister.

His genius, and his love of poetry, were mani-
fested, while he was yet a school-boy. The Gentle-
man's Magazine for April, 1737, contains one of
his earliest attempts at versification, entitled The
Virtuoso, in imitation of Spenser's style and stanza :3
it is far superior to the sing-song inanities, which
in those days generally adorned the pages of that
miscellany, and is prefaced thus by a letter to the
editor :

" Newcastle upon Tyne, April, 23.
(i I hope, Sir, you'll excuse the following Poem, (being
the Performance of one in his sixteenth year), and insert
it in your next Magazine, which will oblige. Yours &c.

" Marcus."

To the same popular work he contributed, in
the next month, an ingenious fable called Ambition

in the Butcher-bank, Newcastle." Richardson's Local
Historian's Table Book, ii. 184, where is an engraving of
the house in which Akenside was born. Ed.

1 "1710, August 10, Mark Akenside and Mary Lums-
den, mar." — Register of St. Nicholas, Neivcastle. Ed.

2 Brand's Obs, on Pop. Antiq. 114, ed. 1777.

3 Vol. vii. 244. — Mr. Bucke thinks it was suggested
by a passage in Shaftesbury's Characteristics, iii. 156. ed.
1737- Life of Akenside, 5 .

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. ill

and Content ; and, in July following, The Poet, a
Rhapsody.

When about the age of seventeen, Akenside
used to visit some relations at Morpeth, where it
has been rather hastily supposed that he wrote his
Pleasures of Imagination.1 Passages of it were,
probably, composed there : at various times and
places, during several years before its publication,
that great work had, no doubt, occupied his mind.
In a fragment of the fourth book of the remodelled
copy,2 he pleasingly describes his early sensibility
to the beauties of nature, and his lonely wander-
ings in the vicinity both of Newcastle and of
Morpeth.

To the Gentleman s Magazine for August, 1738,3
he communicated A British Philippic, occasioned
by the insults of the Spaniards, and the present pre-
'parations for war. That its flaming patriotism
was quite to the taste of Mr. Urban, appears from
the following advertisement : " X. B. It often
turning to our Inconvenience to sell a greater
Number of one Magazine than of another, and
believing the above noble-spirited Poem will be
acceptable to many, not our constant Headers, we
have printed it in Folio, Price Six Pence, together
with the Motto at large, for which, receiving the
Manuscript late, we could not make room. And
if the ingenious Author will inform us how we
may direct a Packet to his Hands, we will send
him our Acknowledgments for so great a Favour
with a Parcel of the Folio Edition."

His Hymn to Science was printed in the Gentle-

Biog. Brit.

Ver. 31—45, page 144.

Vol, viii. 427, where it is signed " BritannicusJ

IV LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

man's Magazine for October, 1739.1 It is doubt-
less a production of considerable merit ; but Mr.
Bucke is probably the only reader whom it ever
moved to rapturous admiration.

Our poet was about eighteen years of age when
he was sent to Edinburgh, with some pecuniary
assistance from the Dissenters' Society, that he
might qualify himself for the office of one of their
ministers ; but, after pursuing the requisite studies
for one winter, he changed his mind with respect
to a profession, entered himself a medical student,2
and repaid the contribution Which he had received
from the Dissenters. " Whether," says Johnson,
" when he resolved not to be a dissenting minister,
he ceased to be a dissenter, I know not. He cer-
tainly retained an unnecessary and outrageous
zeal for what he called and thought liberty ; a zeal
which sometimes disguises from the world, and
not rarely from the mind which it possesses, an
envious desire of plundering wealth or degrading
greatness ; and of which the immediate tendency

1 Vol. ix. 544, where it is dated "Newcastle upon Tyne."
Mr. Bucke, not aware of this, supposes that it was written
at Edinburgh. He pronounces it {Life of Akenside, 19)
to be " worthy the lyre of Collins," to whose imaginative
odes it bears no resemblance ; and after quoting stanzas
12 and 13 (page 305), exclaims, " Has Horace or Gray
anything superior to this ?" I confidently answer, — many
things infinitely superior. In the same vol. of the Gent
Mag. p. 1 53, is An Imitation of Horace, Ode I. B. hi,, signed
" M. A." Qy. Is it by Akenside?

When the Pleasures of Imagination appeared, the editor
of the Gent. Mag,, xiv. 219., gave an extract from that
poem, headed by an announcement that it was written by
the author of the British Philippic and the Hymn to
Science.

2 In a letter written from Newcastle, in 1742 (given
at page vii), he calls himself " Surgeon."

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. V

is innovation and anarchy, an impetuous eagerness
to subvert and confound, with very little care
what shall be established."1

At Edinburgh he was elected a member of the
Medical Society, December 30th, I740,2 and be-
came acquainted with several persons of his own
age, who afterwards rose to eminence ; but though,
during his residence there, he prosecuted the study
of medicine,3 we learn from the following authentic
statement that he was by no means satisfied with
his new profession, and thirsted for a celebrity
very different from that which its most successful
practice could confer. " Akenside," says the late
Dugald Stewart, " when a student at Edinburgh,
was a member of the Medical Society, then re-
cently formed, and was eminently distinguished
by the eloquence which he displayed in the course
of the debates. Dr. Robertson (who was at that
time a student of divinity in the same university)
told me that he was frequently led to attend their
meetings, chiefly to hear the speeches of Akenside ;
the great object of whose ambition then was a seat
in Parliament ; a situation which, he was sanguine
enough to flatter himself, he had some prospect of
obtaining ; and for which he conceived his talents
to be much better adapted than for the profession
he had chosen. In this opinion he was probably
in the right, as he was generally considered by his
fellow-students as far inferior in medical science

1 Life of Akenside.

2 Anderson's Life of Akenside. — Brit. Poets, ix. 725.

3 Mr. Bucke says that Akenside " seems to have made
great progress" in his medical studies at Edinburgh (Life
of Akenside, 16), and in quoting from Stewart the passage
which I have given above, he omits the concluding sen-
tence.

VI LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

to several of his companions."1 To the ardour of
youth, and the consciousness of high endowments,
we ought probably to attribute such ambitious
dreams ; and we may suppose, that as judgment
ripened with maturer years, they faded gradually
away.

At Edinburgh he composed his ode On the
Winter Solstice, dated 1740, which he soon after
re-wrote and amplified. He is said2 to have ori-
ginally printed it with another juvenile production,
Love, an Elegy, for distribution among his friends.
His lines To Cordelia bear the same date.

We are told by Akenside's biographers, that
after staying three years at Edinburgh, he removed
to Leyden for the advancement of his medical
studies : — that he remained there two (according

1 Elem, of the Phil, of the Human Mind (Notes), iii.
501. 4to. The author is led to give the above anecdote
by having quoted in his text (p. 299) the following lines
in Akenside's Ode to Sleep, where, he observes, the poet
" has very beautifully touched upon the history of his
own mind : "

" The figured brass, the choral song,

The rescued people's glad applause,

The listening senate, and the laws

Fixed by the counsels of Timoleon's tongue,

Are scenes too grand for fortune's private ways ;

And, though they shine in youth's ingenuous view,

The sober gainful arts of modern days

To such romantic thoughts have bid a long adieu."

2 Biog. Brit. — In the Ad. and Cor. to the first vol. we
are told that Love " afterwards appeared in the first edition
of Dodsley's Collection, but was omitted in succeeding
editions by Akenside's desire." It certainly is not in the
first ed. of that work, 3 vols. 1748, but may have been
inserted in some early edition of those, or the subsequently-
published volumes, which I have not seen : it was printed
in the third volume of Pearch's Coll. of Poems.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. Vll

to others, three) years, till he had taken his degree
of Doctor of Physic, in 1744: — that he there formed
an intimacy with his future patron, Mr. Jeremiah
Dyson,1 then a student of law at the same univer-
sity, and returned with him to England — (they
" embarked," according to Mr. Bucke's2 particular
account, " in the same vessel at Rotterdam, and
arrived safely in London, after an agreeable but
protracted voyage !"): — and that the Pleasures of
Imagination was published soon after the poet's
arrival in England. I shall presently show that
Akensides first and only visit to Leyden was in
1744, and subsequent to the appearance of his
great work ; and that he and Mr. Dyson were
never in Holland at the same time.

Having completed his studies in the Scottish
capital, Akenside appears to have returned to his
native town in 1741. Next year, he addressed the
following remarkable letter3 to Mr. Dyson, a young
gentleman of fortune, with whom, perhaps, he had
become acquainted during his residence in Edin-
burgh :

" Newcastle upon Tyne, ye 18th of Augst, 1742.
" Dear Sir,
" I have been long expecting to hear from you since I
had the pleasure of seeing you on the road : but your
letter has either miscarry'd or has been prevented perhaps
by some unexpected affairs ingaging you after your
arrival at London longer than you suppos'd. Upon
either of these cases I should not have delay'd to begin a
correspondence sooner, but that I knew not how to direct
for you. Our acquaintance, Mr. Anderson, has just now
inform'd me ; and I take the opportunity of his journey

1 On the authority, I suppose, of Sir John Hawkins. —
Life of Johnson, 233, 243, ed. 1787.

2 Life of Akenside, 24.

3 Now first published.

Viil LIFE OF AKENSIUE.

to London to send you this. For where there is a real
esteem and affection, it is certainly extremely absurd to
act according to those precisenesses of form and punctu-
ality, which in some matters may prevent inconvenience,
but can never regulate the mind, and have no connection
with the free inclinations of one who would be a friend.
The very opportunity of knowing a person of a desirable
character, is the means of no slight enjoyment; but the
prospect of contracting a friendship in such a case brings
the pleasure much nearer home, and promises a kind of
property in those things which all men look upon with
honour and good wishes. If you will excuse me for being
thus selfish, I sincerely and heartily offer you my friend-
ship ; and tho' in such a compact, where there are no
articles of obligation, nothing stipulated, nothing imposed,
it be not very becoming to promise too much, yet I think
one may venture to ingage for himself, that he is capable
of being a friend : for tho' in our voluntary affairs this
be indeed the main article, yet it luckily happens that
this pretension, like all those that regard the heart and
will, is neither difficult to be made good, nor liable to the
censure of vanity : quite differently from all pretensions
to what is valuable in the understanding, or in any other
respect of nature or fortune.

" Mr. Anderson says he was told you had been some-
what indispos'd since you got home ; I hope you are by
this time perfectly strong and healthy, so as to continue
without fear in your resolution of spending next winter
at Leyden. I heartily wish I could spend it with you,
but am as yet undetermin'd. Mr. Archer, besides next
winter at Edinburgh, intends, I hear, to pass another
with Mr. Hucheson; in my opinion he putts off his
settling in business too late, if he spend as many years
as he talks of in an academical way. It was always my
desire to be fixed in life, as they say, as soon as I could,
consistently with the attainments necessary to what I
should profess.

" A letter from you, whenever you are at leisure, will
be extremely welcome : you will direct it to be left at
Mr. Akinside's, Surgeon, in Newcastle upon Tyne.

" 1 desire you to excuse this blotted scrawl ; it is past
midnight, and Mr. Anderson goes away early to-morrow.
I am, Sir, with the greatest esteem and sincerity, your
very affectionate and obedient servant,

" MAUK AlvINSDE."

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. IX

This letter was the prelude to a friendship
memorable for the fervour and the constancy with
which it was maintained on both sides, as well as for
its beneficial results to the poet. At the time it
was written, I apprehend that Akenside was busily
occupied in the composition of the great didactic
poem, over which his genius seems to have brooded
even from his boyish days ; and that, though he
styles himself " Surgeon," he had not commenced
any regular practice in that capacity.

Mr. Dyson's ''resolution of spending next winter
at Leyden," in order to prosecute the study of
civil law, was carried into effect. On his return
to England, in 1743,1he entered himself at one of
the Inns of Court (I believe, Lincoln's Inn), and,
in due time, was called to the bar.

The Pleasures of Imagination being now ready
for the press, we may suppose that Akenside
brought the precious manuscript to London, about
the middle, or towards the close, of 1743. " I
have heard," says Johnson, " Dodsley relate, that
when the copy was offered him, the price demanded
for it, which was a hundred and twenty pounds,
being such as he was not inclined to give precipi-
tately, he carried the work to Pope, who, having
looked into it, advised him not to make a niggardly
offer; for ' this was no every-day writer.'"2 In
consequence of this imprimatur from Twickenham,
the work was published by Dodsley in January,
1744.3 Notwithstanding its metaphysical subject,

1 As appears from a letter of Professor Alberti to hiin,
dated December 1st, 1743, in the possession of his son, J.
Dyson, Esq.

2 Life of Akenside.

3 Quarto, pr. 4s. : see The Daily Post for January 16th,
1744 — Mr. Bucke says it was printed by Richardson, the

LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

so little adapted to the taste of common readers,
this splendid production was received with an ap-

celebrated novelist : a letter addressed to him by Aken-
side will be afterwards given, and is, I suspect, Mr.
Bucke's sole authority for such an assertion. A second
edition, 8vo. pr. 2s. is announced in the Gent. Mag. for
May, 1744. In a copy of the first edition (now in the
British Museum), presented by Akenside to Dyson, is the
following MS. dedication, which probably the modesty of
the latter would not allow to appear in print :

" Viro conjunctissimo

Jeremise Dyson,

Vitse, morumque suorum duci,

Rerum bonarum socio,

Studiorum judici,

Cujus amicitia

Keque sanctius habet quicquam,

Neque optat carius,

Hocce opusculum

(Vos, O tyrannorum impure laudes

Et servilium blandimenta poetarum,

Abeste procul)

Dat, dicat, consecratque

Marcus Akinside,

xvii. Calendas Jan. A.^. c. mdccxliv."

This dedication was not first printed by Mr. Bucke, as
that gentleman supposes : it had previously appeared in
Beloe's Anecdotes, vol. i. p. 89.

The Pleasures of Imagination was published anony-
mously. Johnson told Boswell that when it originally
came out, Rolt (a now forgotten author) went over to
Dublin, and published an edition of it in his own name ;
upon the fame of which he lived for several months, being
entertained at the best tables as " the ingenious Mr.
Rolt ;" and that Akenside having being informed of this
imposition vindicated his right by publishing the poem
with its real author's name. Boswell adds in a note : " I
have had enquiry made in Ireland as to this story, but
do not find it recollected there. I give it on the authority
of Dr. Johnson, to which may be added that of the Bio-
graphical Dictionary and Biographia Dramatica, in both

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XI

plause1 which at once raised the author, who had
only completed his twenty-third year, to a dis-
tinguished station among the poets of the day.
When it first appeared, Pope was sinking under
the malady which, a few months after, removed
him from the poetic throne ; Swift was still alive,
but in the stupor of idiotcy ; Thomson had won
by The Seasons an unfading laurel, to which he
was destined to add another wreath by The Castle

of which it has stood many years. Mr. Malone observes,
that the truth probably is, not that an edition was pub-
lished with Rolt's name in the title-page, but that the
poem, being then anonymous, Rolt acquiesced in its being
attributed to him in conversation." — Life of Johnson, i.
342, ed. 1816.

1 Gray, however, who was not yet known to the world
as a poet, passed a depreciating criticism on it in a letter
to Thomas Wharton, M.D. of Old Park, near Durham.
It is dated from Cambridge, April 26th, 1744: " You
desire to know, it seems, what character the poem of your
young friend bears here. I wonder that you ask the
opinion of a nation, where those who pretend to judge do
not judge at all ; and the rest (the wiser part) wait to
catch the judgment of the world immediately above
them ; that is, Dick's and the Rainbow Coffee Houses.
Your readier way would be to ask the ladies that keep
the bars in those two theatres of criticism. However, to
show you that I am a judge, as well as my countrymen,
I will tell you, though I have rather turned it over than
read it (but no matter ; no more have they), that it seems
to me above the middling ; and now and then, for a little
while, rises even to the best, particularly in description.
It is often obscure, and even unintelligible ; and too much
infected with the Hutchinson jargon. In short, its great
fault is, that it was published at least nine years too
early. And so methinks in a few words, ■ a la mode du
Temple,' I have pertly dispatched what perhaps may for
several years have employed a very ingenious man worth
fifty of myself." Mason's Memoirs of Gray, 178, ed.
1775. His still more unfavourable opinion of some of
Akenside's minor poems will be afterwards cited.

Xll LIFE OF AKENSlDF.

of Indolence ; Young was in the fulness of fame,
though the four concluding portions of the Night
Thoughts were yet unpublished ; Glover enjoyed
a very high reputation from Leonidas ; Johnson
was known only as the author of an admired
satire, London ; Dyer had put forth Gronger Hill,
and The Ruins of Home, with little success, — his
Fleece was yet to come ; Collins had vainly en-
deavoured to attract notice by his Eclogues and
Epistle to Hanmer, — his Odes being of a later
date ; Shenstone had produced little, but among
that little was The School-mistress ; Blair had
published The Grave ; and Armstrong, who had
only a disgraceful notoriety from a licentious
poem,1 was soon to rival Akenside as a didactic
writer.

The applause which hailed the first appearance
of The Pleasures of Imagination had scarcely sub-
sided, when Akenside found that he had roused an
adversary of formidable powers. Having adopted
the opinion of Lord Shaftesbury, that ridicule is
the test of truth, he had annexed to a passage in
the third book of his poem a long note on the
subject, in which Warburton chose to discover an
offensive allusion to himself. When, therefore,
that mighty dogmatist, about two months after,
put forth his Remarks on Several Occasional Re-
flections, in answer to Dr. Middleton, Sfc.2 he de-
voted to Akenside the whole of a sneering and

1 The Economy of Love. His Art of Preserving Health
was published in April, 1744 : see The Daily Post for the
1 2th of that month.

2 Published in March, 1744: see The Daily Post for

the 16th of that month.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. xiii

caustic Preface,1 which opens thus : " In the Pre-
fatory Discourse to the first volume oftheD.pvine]

L.[egation] I spoke pretty largely of the Use of
Ridicule in religious subjects ; as the Abuse of it is
amongst the fashionable arts of Free-thinking:
for which I have been just now call'd to account,
without any ceremony, by the nameless author of
a poem entitled The Pleasures of Imagination. For
'tis my fortune to be still concern'd with those
who either do go masked, or those who should. I
am a plain man, and on my first appearance in this
way, I told my name and who I belonged to.
After this, if men will rudely come upon me in
disguise, they can have no reason to complain, that
(in my ignorance of their characters) I treat them
all alike upon the same free footing they have put
themselves. This gentleman, a follower of Ld.
S.[haftesbury], and, as it should seem, one of those
to whom that Preface was addressed ; certainly,
one of those to whom I applied the words of Tully,
non decef, nan datum est ; who affect wit and rail-
lery on subjects not meet, and with talents un-
equal; this gentleman, I say, in the 105th and
106th pages of his Poem, animadverts upon me in
the following manner : Since (says he) it is beyond ail
contradiction evident that ice have a natural sense or
feeling of the ridiculous, and since so good a reason
may be assigned to justify the supreme Being for

1 This Preface was afterwards reprinted, with some
slight alterations, as a Postscript to the Dedication to the
Free-thinkers in a new edition of the Divine Legation of
Moses. — Both Mr. D'Israeli (Quarrels of Authors, i. 9 7 J>,
and Mr. Bucke (Life of Akenside, 37), seem not to
know where Warburton's attack on the poet originally
appeared.

Xiv LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

bestowing it ; one cannot without astonishment re-
flect on the conduct of those men who imagine it for
the service of true religion to vilify and blacken it
without distinction, and endeavour to persuade us that
it is never applied but in a bad cause" Warburton
then proceeds to a very minute examination of the
obnoxious note ;x he insinuates that Akenside is a
deist, even a favourer of atheism ; and, though he
attacks his philosophy, and not his poetry, he re-
peatedly terms him " our poet" in a manner truly
provoking. In conclusion, he asserts that a passage
in the third book of the poem is an insult to the
whole body of the clergy.2

An Epistle to the Rev. Mr. Warburton, occasioned
by his treatment of the author of the Pleasures of
Imagination, appeared about six weeks after the
publication which had called it forth.3 Though
this angry letter, which displays considerable in-
genuity of argument without much grace of style,
is generally attributed to the friendly pen of Mr.
Dyson, I am inclined to believe that the greater
part of it was composed by Akenside.4 The fol-
lowing quotation forms its commencement :

1 See the note on ver. 262 of the third book of The
Pleasures of Imagination,

2 Ver. 109—

" Others of graver mien, behold, adorned
With holy ensigns," &c.

3 Octavo, pr. 6c?. Published May 1st, 1744: see The
Daily Post of that date. The motto on the title is " Neque
solum quid istum audire, verum etiam quid me deceat dicere,
considerabo." Cic. in Verr. It consists of thirty pages.

4 In a letter to Mr. Dyson (see p. xviii. of this Memoir)
Akenside desires " a copy of that answer to Warburton"
to be sent to Holland. If it had been entirely the work
of his loved (or rather, adored) friend, would he have
mentioned it in such terms ?

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XV

" Sir,
u Notwithstanding the pains you have taken to dis-
courage all men from entering into any controversy with
you ; and notwithstanding the severe example you have
just been making of one, who, as you fancied, had pre-
sumed to call you to account : you must still be content
to be accountable for your writings, and must once more
bear the mortification of being actually called to account
for them.

" Tis the Preface to your late Remarks that you are
now called upon to justify: in which you have thought
fit to treat upon a mighty free footing (as you style it,
but in the apprehension of most people, upon a very in-
jurious one), the ingenious and worthy author of the
poem entitled, The Pleasures of Imagination. The fa-
vourable reception and applause that performance has
met with, render it unnecessary, and indeed impertinent,
for me to enlarge in its praise, especially as you, Sir, have
not condescended to enter into a particular censure of the
poem ; however, by some general hints scatter'd up and
down, as well as by the affectation of perpetually styling
the author our poet, you may have let us see how you stand
affected towards it. Whether it be indeed that dull,
trivial, useless thing you seem to represent it, I shall not
dispute with you; but am content to leave, as to this
point, Mr. W.'s judgment staked against the general re-
putation of the poem. The point I am immediately con-
cern'd with is, your unbecoming treatment of the author,
which, as it is so interwoven thro' the whole course of
your Preface, as to be sufficiently evident, without the
allegation of particular passages ; so we shall find there
are not wanting repeated instances of direct and notorious
ill usage ; such usage, as tho' the provocation had been
ever so just, and the imagined attack upon you ever so
real, would yet have been unwarrantable, and which,
therefore, can't admit of the least shadow of an excuse,
when it shall appear that you had really no provocation
at all. For the very fact with which you set out, and
which is the foundation, I suppose, of all your indignation,
is an entire mistake. You tell us, you have been just now
called to account, §-c. This, I say, is an absolute mistake.
And, as for my own part, I never suspected that the note
you refer to had anything personal in it, so I am au-
thorized to affirm, that it was not at all intended per-
sonally."

XVI LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

To this Letter Warburton returned no answer.
In the remodelled copy of his poem, Akenside re-
duced into a comparatively short passage the lines
which treat of Ridicule, and which were certainly
the least pleasing portion of the work. He, doubt-
less, writhed under Warburton' s vigorous attack,
for which, as will be shown in the course of this
memoir, he, long after, made a sort of requital.

Though the Epistle to Warburton appears not
to have been published, it was certainly printed,
before Akenside went to Leyden for the purpose
of obtaining the degree of Doctor of Physic. This
is proved by an allusion to it in the first of the
following very interesting letters1 to his beloved
friend, Mr. Dyson. The erroneous statement of
his biographers, that he visited Holland at an
earlier period than 1744, has been already noticed.

"Leyden, April 7th, N. S. 1744.

" Dear Dyson,
"At last I am in a condition to recollect myself suffi-
ciently to write to you. Ever since I left you, I have been
from hour to hour ingag'd by a succession of most trivial
circumstances, and yet importunate enough to force my
attention from those objects, to which it most naturally
and habitually inclines. I now begin to respire, and can
fancy myself at Lincoln's Inn, meeting you after a very
tedious absence of eight days : and telling the little occur-
rences I have met with ; a story in other respects too in-
considerable to be repeated ; but which, in repeating it to
my friend, acquires an importance superior to the annals
of a king's posterity.

"I went onboard from Harwich on Thursday morning,
and got ashore at Helveotsluys just about the same time
on Saturday. I was not in the least sick. I am now
settled in Eoebuck's chamber, the same house with Mr.
Drew and Brocklesby. This last was the only one of my

1 Now first published.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XV11

acquaintance I found here, and I dare say if you were
now to return to Ley den, you would think the acquaint-
ance of those who have come hither since you went away,
very, very far from compensating the loss of those whose
conversation you had the happiness to injoy. There are
not above ten or twelve English, Scotch, and Irish now
at Leyden.

" As I was in the street yesterday, Mr. Schwartz, who
had been told by somebody or other that I was a friend
of Mr. Dyson's, came up to me and inquir'd very affec-
tionately after you. I am just come from sitting the after-
noon with him ; he could hardly talk of anything but
you ; yet complains that you neglect to write to him. He
is uncertain whether he shall be in London this summer
or not ; but says he is very well acquainted with all the
streets there, he has so carefully studied them in the map.
I love the good nature and simplicity of his manners, and
love his company more than any body's in Leyden, for I
see that whenever we are together we shall fall a talking
about you immediately.

" I have been with Mr. Gronovius l and the Doctor,
who make an excelient contrast, both as to their manners
and studies ; about the latter of these the}* are constantly
rallying and joking on each other. Mr. Gronovius shew'd
me his Kicander, about which he has taken vast pains.
He has above six hundred emendations of the text, and
scholia, but wants an unpublish'd paraphrase of the au-
thor, which, it seems, is in a library at Vienna. He talks
of making this little book as large as his last iElian. I
wish you could get the Pindar, which I hear is probably
by this time finish'd at Glasgow, in one volume, the same
size and type with the Theophrastus. Mr. Brocklesby
tells me of an edition of Shaftesbury in the press at Dub-
lin, with new copperplates : to which a fourth volume will
be added, consisting of the two epistolary pamphlets and
unpublish'd letters of Ld. Molesworth to my 2 master.

" I will not spend time in giving you my sentiments
of Holland or Leyden, they are so intirely the same with

1 Abraham Gronovius. The Nicander, here mentioned,
was never published.

2 An allusion to the Preface to Remarks cm Occasional
Reflections, kc.Aw which Warburton more than once calls
Shaftesbury Akenside's u Master."

XV111 LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

what you express'd to me. One thing struck me very
strongly, the absurd inconsistence between their ceremo-
nious foppishness (miscalled politeness) and their gross
insensibility to the true decorum in numberless instances,
especially among the women. Such is their architec-
ture, their painting, their music ; such their dress, the
furniture of their houses, the air of their chariots, and the
countenance of their polity, that when I think of Eng-
land, I cannot now help paying it the same veneration
and applause which at London I thought due only to
Athens, to Corinth, or to Syracuse. You, who know Hol-
land, will excuse me for talking in this way, after so short
a view of it as I have had ;! because you know how ob-
vious these appearances are, and how great an uniformity
runs through the whole constitution of the country, na-
tural and moral.

" Mr. Ready is well, and sends his service ; as do all
your other acquaintances. You will soon see Mr. Drew,
for he is a printing his Thesis, and takes London in his
way home.

"Be so good as to present my compliments to Mrs.
Dyson, Miss Dyson, and all the rest of your friends and
mine. You will know whom I mean without a list of
them ; only, lest jtou should not think on them, allow me
to mention Mr. Ward and Mr. Ramsay. And pray forget
not to make my apology to Mr. Pickering, for I utterly
forgot to call upon him at my leaving London, which has
since vex'd me not a little.

" Be sure you write to me immediately. Let me know
how you manage about the Basilica, and what informa-
tion Mr. Ramsay has given you. If you call at Dodsley's,
he will give you a copy of that answer to Warburton ; I
should be glad if you could send it inclos'd in your first
letter, and if you could give me your opinion about Dr.
Armstrong's poem.2 Write me a very long letter, and
direct it to Mc-Carthy's. I think I am rather freer than
I should have been if boarding : tho', heaven knows, my
pleasure at noon is meerly in dining, properly so call'd.
Farewell, my friend, my good genius, and above all things,
believe me for ever most affectionately, most intirely, only
yours, " M. Akinside."

1 This passage decidedly proves that Akenside had not
previously visited Holland.

2 The Art of Preserving Health,

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XlX

" Leyden, April 17th, N. S. 1744.
" Dear Mr. Dyson,

" I had not been above four days at Leyden before two
of my Edinburgh acquaintances, Mr. Austin and Mr.
Hume, came hither from their winter quarters at Ghent,
to make the tour of Holland. I was glad of the oppor-
tunity to go along with them, as I had no prospect of
any company so desirable. At my return, I found your
letter, by which I see we had been writing to each other
precisely at the same time. I always was afraid you
would be uneasy in waiting so long for a letter : and in-
deed I should have wrote directly from Helvoetsluys, but
for a mistaken supposition that the post went from Ley-
den on Saturday night, and that consequently I should
save no time by writing before I got to my journey's end.
Would to God this may find you perfectly recover'd and
in free spirits ; I dare not, I cannot suffer my imagination
to conceive otherwise. The whole day after we parted, I
was dreading the consequence of your being abroad in
so damp a morning, and lodging in that vile inn, at a
time when your health was far from being confirm'd. In
every other circumstance, I need not tell you what hap-
piness your letter gave me. Believe me, my dear, my
honour'd friend, I look upon my connection with you as
the most fortunate circumstance of my life. I never think
of it without being happier and better for the reflection.
I injoy, by means of it, a more animated, a more perfect
relish of every social, of every natural pleasure. My own
character, by means of it, is become an object of venera-
tion and applause to myself. My sense of the perfection
and goodness of the Supreme Being is nobler and more
affecting. It is that good, that beauty with which my
mind is filFd, and which serves as a sacred antidote
against the influence of that moral evil which is in the
world, when it would perplex and distress me. It has the
force of an additional conscience, of a new principle of
religion : nor do I remember one instance of moral good
or evil offer'd to my choice of late, in which the idea of
your mind and manners did not come in along with the
essential beauty of virtue and the sanction of the divine
laws to guide and determine me. It has inlarg'd my
knowledge of human nature, and ascertain'd my ideas of
the ceconomy of the universe. In whatever light I con-
sider, with whatever principle or sensation I compare it,

XX LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

it still continues to receive strength from the Lest and
highest, and in return confirm and inlarge them,

like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Giving and stealing odours.

I have sometimes, when in a cold or more sceptical turn
of thought than is natural to my temper, hesitated whe-
ther this affection might not and did not too much en-
gross my mind. But in a moment I saw, and you, my
friend, know and feel with what satisfaction not to be
described, that it was impossible to indulge it too much,
in any other sense than as it is possible to carry too far
our regard for the Supreme Being ; that is, to lose sight
of its natural tendency and run counter to the very spirit
with which it was instituted : in other words, while we
continue to cultivate our friendship, intire and extensive
as its foundations now are, it cannot ingross our minds
too much, or exert too general an influence on our con-
duct.

" Perhaps you expect some account of my travels.
Indeed I cannot say more than that they confirm'd all
my former ideas of the Dutch genius and taste. Minute
and careful in execution T but flat and inelegant and nar-
row in design. Their buildings, their gardens, their civil
forms, every thing, give the same information. At Am-
sterdam I saw a Dutch tragedy, which, tho' intended to
be really distressful, was yet farcical beyond anything in
Aristophanes, or the Rehearsal. And these farcical parts
were the only things that mov'd the audience in the very
least degree. And in the middle of the distress, in those
boxes where people of the best figure use to sit, the glass
and brandy bottle was going about among both men and
women.

" As for my acquaintance here, it lies chiefly, almost
wholly, among the gentlemen that lodge with Mr. Van-
derlas : the others, at the ordinary, have given me no
reason to alter the account 3-011 had in my last. Mr.
Ready, as far as I am able to judge, is a very amiable
man, and much a gentleman; and young Mr. Canowan,
I hope, will turn out very well in the world, especially
as I see he is much less attach'd to the bigotry and nar-
row spirit of the Roman Catholic religion. Mr, Schwartz
spent this afternoon with me, and all salute you. I need

LIFE OF AKEXSIDE. Xxi

not desire you to express for me the warmest sentiments
of friendship and respect to Mrs. Dyson and Miss Dy-
sons, nor to remember me to all our other friends. I am
within five minutes of the post, and very sorry to part so
soon. Farewell, my dearest Dyson. Ever yours,

" M. Akinside."
" Friday Evening.
" To Mr. Dyson, at Serle's Coffee-house,
" Lincoln's Inn, London."

" Leyden, April 21st, ST. S. 1744.
a My dearest Dyson,
" I have just received and read your letter, by which I
find we have been a second time imploy'd in writing to
each other at the same instant : from what sympathetic
influence of our minds one upon the other, or what invi-
sible agency of superior genii favourable to friendship, I
cannot tell. But that your writing was a sort of present
and immediate security for your being tolerably well, I
should have been much alarm'd at the account you give
of the return of your disorder. But now I hope 'tis fairly
over, and that you have laid in a stock of health and
good spirits for a very long time. For my own part,
since I left you, I have indeed been well, in the vulgar
sense of the phrase, that is to say, my appetite, my sleeps,
my pulse, and the rest of that kind have been regular
and sound: but the other more desirable sort of good
health, that which consists in the perfect, the harmonious
possession of one's own mind, in the exercise of its best
facultys upon those objects which are most adapted to it
by nature and habit, and, above all things, in that con-
scious, that inexplicable feeling that ice are happy; this
kind of health, I confess, I have not injoy'd so intire for
these three weeks : nor do I expect to injoy it, till I re-
turn to that situation which taught me first to conceive
it. The more I see of Holland (and I imagine the case
would be the same were I to travel thro' the world), the
more I love and honour my native country. The man-
ners of the people, the political forms, the genius of the
constitution, the temper of the laws, the accidental objects
of dress and behaviour one meets with in the streets, the
very face of their buildings, and outward appearance of
the country in general, only serve to put me in mind of
England, with a greater desire of returning. In the
same manner as all that variety of mix'd company I have

XXII LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

pass'd thro' this last year or two, only gave me a stronger
sense of my happiness when I got home to you.

"lam [at] present buried among medical books; col-
lecting facts, and comparing opinions among the dullest
of mortal men, and that, too, in their dullest capacity,
that of authors. However, I hope this necessary task
will grow more agreeable, when I shall be at leisure to
attend to the justness of argument and the decency of ex-
pression. As I spend no time so agreeably as in reading
your letters, or (next to that) in conversing with you even
after this imperfect manner, I could not forbear sitting
down immediately to write, especially as I was so much
straitened for time last post. I am very glad that people
shew so much unanimity about the war against France ;
and, for my own part, I have not the least doubt of the
superiority of our national spirit, and consequently of
our success in general ; only I am afraid that we shall
want generals, and that the war will be too much carried
on, on our part, by land. I can't say I was much pleased
with the declaration of war (I mean the formula, not the
thing), the style seem'd to me rather that of a private
man clearing himself from some unbecoming imputa-
tions, than that of the chief magistrate of a mighty and
free people proclaiming war against the most formidable
people in the world, in defence of justice, and drawn to
it by the disinterested succour of an oppress'd and in-
sulted ally. The speech to the parliament I could not
indeed but approve : there was an expression either in it,
or in the declaration against France, quite equal to the
occasion ; * I appeal to the whole world for the equity
and rectitude of my conduct.' It is certainly very great,
and has but one impropriety (indeed, a very essential
one), that the honour due to the people of Britain for the
generosity and fearless love of justice they have, under
such vast pressures, manifested upon this occasion, is, by
this way of speaking, unavoidable in our government,
attributed to one man, who has no other merit in the
affair, than meerly in not imbezzling the vast sums which
have been advanc'd in support of the common cause.

" You would see by my last that I cannot finish my
affairs here so soon as you suppos'd. But what time I
lost in the beginning by going to Amsterdam, &c, I
shall gain towards the end of my stay here ; so that I
hope to be in London, at least in England, within a
month at latest. I have long indulged myself in an

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XXlll

agreeable prospect of settling at S., chiefly because of
my opportunity of seeing you frequently, and next to that
(if indeed it be not a consideration more important), in
making such acquaintances during the summer seasons,
as might put it sooner in my power to spend the remain-
der of my life without interruption beside you. But
since the expectation was ill founded, we must make
ourselves easy, and look out in Northampton, or any
other place tolerably near home. For of this one thing
I am certain : never to be far from you. I would have
you write as soon as you can, if it be but to tell me how
long your journey to Shropshire will take you; because,
if you determine to go thither, I shall take shipping from
Rotterdam to Newcastle, as you will probably be gone
before I can reach London even by the pacquet. At
this moment, while I write this, I feel something of the
pain of a second parting.

" As the auctions were almost intirely over before I
got hither, I have not bought many books, nor expect to
buymanj^. I have, however, got a few classics, and such
medical books as are most useful at present. Those that
are rather for curiosity and medical erudition, I shall
leave commissions for with some acquaintance or other.
I find what you told me to be very true, that the old and
best editions of the Greek authors are dearer here than
in London. Mr. Gronovius tells me, what perhaps you
do not know, that Mr. Freeman is to return to Leyden :
by which I judge he has intirely dedicated himself to
Greek (properly so called) and to editorial criticism (ex-
cuse the phrase). I think Gronovius one of the strangest
men I ever met with.

" Farewell, my dear friend. I know you oft think of
me, and need not be told how oft and how affectionately
I remember you.

" Ever and intirely yours,

" Mark Akinside."

" Tuesday Afternoon."

" P. S. I wish you would leave off writing upon gilt
paper, unless you can get sheets of it as large as this. I
forgot to tell you, that Wetstein at Amsterdam shew'd
me the unflnish'd Diodorus Siculus ; it is printed exactly
like the last Thucydides, but how accurately I cannot tell.
Forget not my compliments at Charter-house Square, nor
to Mr. Harrison, Mr. Dyson, and the rest of our friends.

XXIV LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

Mr. Gronovius, Mr. Schwartz, Mr. Ready, and all your 's
here salute you.

" I have just been at Langeratu's to inquire about the
Basilica, but not finding him, must refer it to another
opportunity."

On the 16th May, 1744,1 Akenside took his de-
gree of Doctor of Physic, at Leyden, the subject
of his Dissertatio Medica Inauguralis being De
ortu et incremento fcetus liumani ;2 and, doubtless,
as soon as he had obtained his diploma, he hastened
back to England. In the collection of Odes, which
he published in the following year, is an Ode On
leaving Holland.

He was now desirous to commence the practice
of his profession ; and having heard that he had
a prospect of succeeding at Northampton, and
having made some necessary enquiries on the spot,
in June, 1744,3 he soon after fixed himself there
as a physician. It was not long, however, before
he found that the chief medical business of the
place was in the hands of Dr. Stonehouse, from
whom it was not to be wrested by a stranger ; 4

1 See note at page xlii. of this Memoir.

2 Printed at Leyden in 1744, 4to. " In this disserta-
tion the author is said to have displayed his medical
sagacity by attacking some opinions of Leeuwenhoek and
other writers, at that time very generally received, but
which have been since discarded by the best physicians
and philosophers ; and by proposing an hypothesis which
is now considered as founded in truth." — Kippis's Bioy.
Brit

3 From the information of Mr. Dyson, (October 25th,
1834,) who thus describes the contents of one of the poet's
letters to his father : " On the 1 4th June [1744] he writes
from Northampton to report the result of his enquiries in
relation to the expediency of his settling there, which was
such as induced him to do so."

4 A correspondent (who signs himself Indagator) in the

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XXV

and having maintained a fruitless contest with that
gentleman, and perhaps disliking Northampton on
account of its distance from the capital, he quitted
it, after a stay of about eighteen months, and re-
moved to Hampstead. " The writer of this article,"
says Kippis, in a note on our author's Life,1 " who
then resided at Northampton for education, well
remembers that Dr. Doddridge and Dr. Akenside

Gent. Mag. for October, 1793 (lxiii. 885), writes thus:
" The fact, Mr. Urban, is, that this contest for the physical
business at Northampton, though unsuccessful on the part
of Akenside, had for some time been supported by him
with extraordinary violence. I am warranted, by manu-
scripts in my possession, when I say, that not only a fair
and open struggle of medical hostilities, but every art and
every exertion, personal abuse and private insinuation,
had been used to usurp Dr. Stonehouse's professional
emoluments, and oust him from his established settle-
ment. Yet, on Akenside's removal from that place to
Hampstead, the recommendatory letter, a copy of which
I send you, was generously written in his favour by his
worthy rival, as an introduction for him to a gentleman
of consequence in the neighbourhood of his new abode."

" Dear Sir,
" The gentleman who presents you with this is Dr. Aken-
side, a brother physician, whose merit, as a man of refined
sense and elegance of taste, is too well known by his wri-
tings (The Pleasures of the Imagination, &c.) to need any
other testimonial ; and I dare say, from what you already
know of them, you will naturally conclude, without any
praise of mine, that such a man must be proportionably
distinguished in his own peculiar profession.

" I take this opportunity of introducing him to the
honour of your acquaintance ; and make no doubt you
will receive him as a gentleman, whom for his character
and abilities I much esteem, and whose near neighbour-
hood, in any place where there had been room for us both,
I should have regarded as an addition to my happiness.
I am," &c.

See, too, Gent, Mag. for January, 1794, (lxiv. 12.)

1 Biog. Brit.

XXVI LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

carried on an amicable debate concerning the opi-
nions of the ancient philosophers with regard to
a future state of rewards and punishments ; in
which Dr. Akenside supported the firm belief of
Cicero in particular, in this great article of na-
tural religion." According to Johnson, who hear-
tily disliked his political creed, and never loses an
opportunity of stigmatising it, Akenside "deafened
the place with clamours for liberty."1

During his stay at Northampton (in 1744), he
produced his very powerful satire, An JEpistle to
Curio,2 — i. e. to the Eight Hon. William Pulteney,
who, having been long the strenuous supporter of
the people's cause, in opposition to the measures
of government, had suddenly deserted his party,
and become an object of popular execration, for
the sake of an empty title, the Earldom of Bath.
This justly-admired piece he afterwards injudi-
ciously altered into an ode.

The following letter, undoubtedly genuine, and
never before printed in England, is given from a
facsimile of the original in a American edition of
our author's works:3

" Northampton, May 21st, 1745.
" Dear Sib,
" When I look on the date of your letter, I am very glad
that I have any excuse, however disagreeable, for not
answering it long ere this. About a month ago, when I
w^as thinking every post to write to you, I was thrown

1 Life of Akenside.

2 Published by Dodsley, 4to. pr. Is. : See List of Books
for Xovember, 1744, in the Gent. Mag. On the title-page
is this motto : " Neque tarn ulciscendi causa dixi, quam ut
et in prcesens sceleratos cives timore ah impugnanda patria
detinerem; et in poster um documentum statuerem, neqids talem
amentiam vellet imitari" — TuLL.

3 Printed at Xewr Brunswick, 1808, 2 vols. 8vo.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XXV11

from my horse with a very great hazard of my life, and
confined a good while afterwards from either writing or
reading. But, thank heaven, for these ten days I have
been perfectly well. You are very good-natured about
the verses. If they gave you any pleasure, I shall con-
clude my principal end in publishing them to be fairly
answer'd. And that you look upon your reading them
in manuscript, and this way of seeing them in print, as
an instance of real friendship, gives me great satisfaction.
As for public influence, if they have any, I hope it will
be a good one. But my expectations of that kind are
not near so sanguine as they once were. Indeed human
nature in its genuine habit and constitution is adapted
to very powerful impressions from this sort of entertain-
ment : but in the present state of manners and opinions,
it is almost solely on the retir'd and studious of nature,
that this effect can be looked for : for hardly any besides
these have been able to preserve the genuine habit of the
mind in any tolerable degree. I am, dear Sir, your most
obedient and most humble servant,

« To M. Wilkes, Jdn. " M. Akinside."

St. John's-street, London."

Here probably he alludes to his Odes on Several
Subjects, which had been published more than two1

1 Dodsley, 4to. pr. Is. 6^. See List of Books for
March, 1745, in the Gent Mag. This tract consists of fifty-
four pages, and has the following motto from Pindar :

Xpvebv sv^ovrai, 7rediov o" srepoi
airepavTOV kyuj fr aarolg adujp, Kal
xOovl yvla Ka\v\pai-
jjl\ alvkujv alvrjrd, juo/x-
<pav d' £7ricrTrEip(x)v dXirpolg.

Another edition of these Odes in small octavo was printed
in the same year.— Horace Walpole writes to Sir H.
Mann, March 29th, 1745: "There is another of these
tame geniuses, a Mr. Akenside, who writes odes; in one
he has lately published, he says, * Light the tapers, urge
the fire.' Had you not rather make gods jostle in the
dark, than light the candles, for fear they should break
their heads?" Letters, fyc. ii. 32. Walpole's editor, in
a kindred spirit, calls the Pleasures of Imagination " a
poem of some merit."

XXVlii LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

months before the date of this letter, and which
require particular notice, though they have not
obtained the slightest mention from Mr. Bucke.
They are prefaced by an Advertisement worthy of
preservation : — " The following Odes were written
at very distant intervals, and with a view to very
different manners of expression and versification.
The author pretends chiefly to the merit of endea-
vouring to be correct, and of carefully attending
to the best models. From what the ancients have
left of this kind, perhaps the Ode may be allowed
the most amiable species of poetry ; but certainly
there is none which in modern languages has been
generally attempted with so little success. For
the perfection of lyric poetry depends, beyond that
of any other, on the beauty of words and the grace-
fulness of numbers ; in both which respects the
ancients had infinite advantages above us. A con-
sideration which will alleviate the author's disap-
pointment, if he too should be found to have mis-
carried." The contents of this tract are : — Allusion
to Horace [now entitled Preface to Odes, Book I.]
On the Winter -solstice. Against Suspicion. To a
Gentleman, whose Mistress had Married an Old Man
[now entitled To a Friend Unsuccessful in Love].
Hymn to Cheerfidness. On the Absence of the Poetic
Inclination [now entitled To the Muse] . To a Friend
on the Hazard of Falling in Love [now entitled On
Love, to a Friend]. On Leaving Holland. To
Sleep. On Lyric Poetry. A new edition of these
Odes, materially altered and improved, was pub-
lished in 1760 ; and after the author's death, they
were again reprinted with still farther alterations,
in that collection of his various Odes which he had
left behind him for the press. How the text, as
finally arranged, differs from that of the first edi-

LIFE OF AKENS1DE. XXIX

tion, the following quotations will evince. A cele-
brated stanza .in the Ode On the Winter- solstice is
now read thus :

" Hence the loud city's busy throngs
Urge the warm bowl and splendid fire ;
Harmonious dances, festive songs,
Against the spiteful heaven conspire.
Meantime, perhaps with tender fears,
Some village dame the curfew hears,
While round the hearth her children play :
At morn their father went abroad ;
The moon is sunk, and deep the road ;
She sighs, and wonders at his stay."

It stood in the edition of 1745 :

" Now through the town promiscuous throngs

Urge the warm bowl and ruddy fire ;

Harmonious dances, festive songs

To charm the midnight hours conspire.

While mute and shrinking with her fears,

Each blast the cottage matron hears,

As o'er the hearth she sits alone :

At morn her bride-groom went abroad,

The night is dark and deep the road ;

She sighs, and wishes him at home."

The Ode To a Friend Unsuccessful in Love now
ends thus :

" Oh ! just escaped the faithless main,
Though driven unwilling on the land ;
To guide your favoured steps again,
Behold your better Genius stand :
Where Truth revolves her page divine,
Where Virtue leads to Honour's shrine,
Behold, he lifts his awful hand.

" Fix but on these your ruling aim,
And Time, the sire of manly care,
Will Fancy's dazzling colours tame ;
A soberer dress will beauty wear :
Then shall esteem, by knowledge led,
Enthrone within your heart and head
Some happier love, come truer fair."

XXX LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

It formerly concluded :

" Oh, just escaped the faithless main,
Though driven unwilling on the land,
To guide your favoured steps again,
Behold your better Genius stand :
Where Plato's olive courts your eye,
Where Hampden's laurel blooms on high,
He lifts his heaven-directed hand.

" When these are blended on your brow,
The willow will be named no more ;
Or if that love- deserted bough
The pitying, laughing girls deplore,
Yet still shall I most freely swear
Your dress has much a better air
Than all that ever bride-groom wore."

In the Ode On Lyric Poetry we now find :

" Yet then did Pleasure's lawless throng,
Oft rushing forth in loose attire,
Thy virgin dance, thy graceful song
Pollute with impious revels dire.
O fair, 0 chaste, thy echoing shade
May no foul discord here invade ;
Nor let thy strings one accent move,
Except what earth's untroubled ear
'Mid all her social tribes may hear,
And heaven's unerring throne approve.

The lines were originally :

" But oft amid the Grecian throng
The loose-robed forms of wild Desire
With lawless notes intuned thy song,
To shameful steps dissolved thy quire.
0 fair, 0 chaste, be still with me
From such profaner discord free :
While I frequent thy tuneful shade,
No frantic shouts of Thracian dames,
No Satyrs fierce with savage flames
Thy pleasing accents shall invade."

When this collection first appeared, the Odes of
Collins and Gray had not been published ; and it

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XXXI

therefore formed (with all its imperfections) the
most valuable accession which the lyric poetry of
England had received since Dryden's time, if we
except the single Ode of Pope.1

Concerning the Ode Against Suspicion, we are
told by Mr. Bucke that it was addressed to a self-
tormenting friend who had been seized with
groundless jealousy, because his wife used to in-
dulge in certain " innocent freedoms" with her
male acquaintances, and who, in his distress, had
applied to Akenside for advice.2

That our author, after quitting Northampton,
proceeded to try his fortune as a physician at
Hampstead, has been already noticed. In Feb-
ruary, 1747, Mr. Hardinge3 resigned his office of
Clerk to the House of Commons in favour of Mr.
Dyson, for six thousand pounds ; and the latter,
bidding adieu to the bar, purchased a villa at North
End, Hampstead, for the purpose of introducing
Akenside to the chief persons in the neighbour-
hood. " There," says Sir John Hawkins, " they
dwelt together during the summer season, fre-
quenting the long room, and all clubs, and assem-
blies of the inhabitants."4 But, if we may believe
the statements of this writer, who knew him well,
Akenside, by a want of " discretion," frustrated
the kind endeavours of Mr. Dyson to forward his

1 Of the mass of nonsense which, under the title of Pin-
darick Odes, was poured out towards the close of the
seventeenth, and during the early part of the eighteenth
century, the reader who has not examined it can have
no conception.

2 Life of Akenside, 49. Mr. Bucke does not give his
authority for the anecdote.

3 See an account of this gentleman, Mr. Nicholas Har-
dinge, in Nichols's Illust. of Lit. Hist. iii. 5.

4 Life of Johnson, 243, ed. 1787.

XXX11 LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

views. At the meetings just mentioned, which
were attended by wealthy persons of ordinary en-
dowments, who could only talk of the occurrences
of the day, he made an ostentatious display of that
talent for conversation which had distinguished
him in more enlightened society, — became involved
in disputes that betrayed him into a contempt of
those who differed from his opinions, — was taunt-
ingly reminded of his low birth and dependence on
Mr. Dyson, — and was reduced to the necessity of
asserting in plain terms that he was a gentleman.
By a residence of about two years and a half at
Hampstead, he gained nothing but the conviction
that he had chosen a situation which did not suit
him. Mr. Dyson therefore parted with his villa at
North End, settled his friend in a small but hand-
some house in Bloomsbury Square, London, and,
with a generosity almost unexampled, allowed him
annually such a sum of money (stated to have been
three hundred pounds),1 as enabled him to keep a
chariot, and to command the comforts and elegan-
cies of life.

Mr. Bucke has suppressed the observations of
Hawkins on Akenside's want of success at Hamp-
stead ; and attributes it entirely to the insolence
of the purse-proud inhabitants, whom the high-
minded poet would not stoop to court. They were,
perhaps, not a little supercilious and overbearing ;
but the tone assumed by Mr. Bucke in treating
the subject, could only be warranted by his hav-

1 The sum was probably greater. Sir John Hawkins
says that Mr. Dyson " assigned for his support such a
part of his income as enabled him to keep a chariot" Id.
244 ; and Mr. Justice Hardinge, in some anecdotes -which
will be afterwards given in this Memoir, asserts that
Akenside " lived incomparably well."

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XXX111

ing resided among them at the period in question,
and having frequently witnessed their behaviour
towards Akenside.1

To return to the notice of his works. In 1746
he wrote his truly classical Hymn to the Naiads,
and (according to Mr. Bucke) his Ode To the
Evening Star :2 he also contributed to Dodsley's
excellent periodical publication, The Museum, or
Literary and Historical Register^ several prose

1 " They required to be sought ; their wives and daugh-
ters expected to be escorted and flattered ; and their sons
to be treated with an air of obligation," &c. Life of Aken-
side, 70.

3 Life of Akenside, 52.

3 Akenside's share in Dodsley's Museum, and the remu-
neration he received for his services, are stated in the fol-
lowing agreement : — " Jany. 20, 1 745-6.

" Dr. Akinside ingages to Mr. Dodsley for six months,
commencing the 25th of March next, — To prepare and
nave ready for the press, once a fortnight, one Essay,
whenever necessary, for carrying on a work to be called
rhe Museum. And also, — To prepare and have ready for
the press, once a fortnight, an account of the most con-
siderable books in English, Latin, French, or Italian, which
have been lately published, and which Mr. Dodsley shall
furnish : and the said Account of Books shall be so much
in quantity as, along with the Essay above mentioned,
may fill a sheet and a half in small pica, whenever so
much is necessary for carrying on the said design.

" Dr. Akinside also engages to supervise the whole, and
to correct the press of his own part. On condition — That
Mr. Dodsley shall pay to Dr. Akinside fifty pounds on or
before the 27th of September next. — 'Tis also agreed that
so long as Mr. Dodsley thinks proper to continue the
Paper, and so long as Dr. Akinside consents to manage
it, the terms above mentioned shall remain in force, and
not less than an hundred pounds per annum be offered by
Mr. Dodsley, nor more insisted on by Dr. Akinside, as
witness our hands. " Mark Akinside.

" Kobt. Dodsley."

See Gent Mag. Feb. 1853, p. 158.— Ed.

d

XXXIV LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

papers, which deserve to be reprinted, and from
which I regret that the necessary shortness of this
Memoir will not allow me to offer some extracts ;
viz. On Correctness,1 The Table of Modern Fame.,
a vision? Letter from a Swiss Gentleman on English
Liberty? and The Balance of Poets.* In 1747
he composed a couple of stanzas On a Sermon
against Glory, and an Ode to the Earl of Hunting-
don, which was published in the following year,0
and is, perhaps, the most perfect of his efforts in
lyric poetry. About the same time he composed
his Ode to Caleb Hardinge, M. D., a talented and
eccentric character, of whom, in connection with
our poet, some anecdotes will be afterwards re-
lated. Mr. Dyson, we have already seen, had suc-
ceeded this gentleman's brother, Mr. Hardinge, as
Clerk to the House of Commons ; and Akenside
had consequently become acquainted with various
members of the Hardinge family. The Ode To Sir

1 Museum, i. 84. — Two passages of this Essay are cited
by J. Warton (Pope's Works, i. 264 ; iv. 190), and Mr.
Bucke, not knowing from what piece they were derived,
supposes that Warton quoted from the conversation of
Akenside. Life of Akenside, 105.

2 Museum, i. 481. — It is an imitation of the eighty-first
number of The Tatler — J. Warton (Pope's Works, ii. 83),
attributing it to Akenside, says, "the guests are intro-
duced and ranged with that taste and judgment which is
peculiar to the author." It is strange that Akenside
should have omitted to introduce (though he quotes)
Shakespeare in this Vision.

3 3Iuseum, ii. 161.— On the authority of Mr. A. Chal-
mers, (Biog. Diet., art. Akenside,) who possesses J. War-
ton's copy of The Museum : see also Brit. Poets, xviii. 76.

4 3Iuseum, ii. 165. (mispaged). — On the authority of
Isaac Reed.

5 Quarto, pr. Is. See List of Books for January, 1748,
in the Gent. Mag.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XXXV

Francis Henry Drake was produced. I apprehend,
at nearly the same period, In 1749 he wrote The
Remonstrance of Shakespeare, supposed to have been
spoken at the Theatre Royal, while the French Come-
dians were acting by subscription; a piece only re-
markable for its illiberality.

Akenside was about the age of twenty-seven,
when, rendered easy in his circumstances by the
annual gratuity of Mr. Dyson, he finally took up
his abode in the metropolis. Thenceforth his ex-
ertions to advance himself in his profession appear
to have been unremitting. Though he occasion-
ally amused his leisure by composing poetry, he
gave little of it to the press : and published from
time to time various medical essays. His reputa-
tion and practice continued to increase till his
death ; but it is certain that he never attained the
highest rank in his profession, and that his ser-
vices were never in much request.1 " A physician
in a great city," observes Johnson, " seems to be
the mere plaything of fortune ; his degree of re-
putation is, for the most part, totally casual : they
that employ him know not his excellence ; they
that reject him know not his deficience. By any
acute observer, who had looked on the transac-
tions of the medical world for half a century, a
very curious book might be written on the ' For-

1 The newspapers, which announce his decease, describe
him as " a physician of very extensive practice ;" and
Kippis, in the Biog. Brit., says, "in a course of time, Dr.
Akenside came into very considerable reputation and
practice :" on the contrary, besides the statements of Dr.
Johnson and Sir John Hawkins, it is positively asserted
by his friend Mr. Justice Hardinge that " he certainly
had no business or fame" as a medical man: see some
anecdotes afterwards cited in this Memoir.

XXXVI LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

tune of Physicians.' "x According to Sir John
Hawkins, Akenside's endeavours to become popu-
lar were defeated by the high opinion which he
everywhere manifested of himself, his want of
condescension to those of inferior talents, and his
love of political controversy. At Tom's Coffee-
house in Devereux Court, which he frequented in
the winter evenings, and which was then the re-
sort of various eminent men, he would engage in
disputes, chiefly on literature and politics, that
fixed on his character the stamp of haughtiness
and self-conceit.

Among the company who used to assemble
there, was a little, deformed personage, named
Ballow ; a lawyer without practice, holding a
place in the exchequer ; vulgar and ill-tempered,
but of deep and extensive learning. He envied
the eloquence which Akenside displayed in con-
versation, hated what he thought his republican
principles, and affected to treat him as a pretender
to literature. A violent dispute having arisen
between them, Akenside, in consequence of some
expressions uttered by Ballow, demanded an apo-
logy ; which not being able to obtain, he sent his
adversary a written challenge. Though Ballow
wore a sword of remarkable length, he had no in-
clination to use it : he declined an answer ; and, in
spite of Akenside' s repeated attempts to see him,
kept close in his lodgings, till the interposition of
friends had adjusted their difference. Akenside,
however, gained little reputation for courage by
this affair : it was settled not by the concessions
of his adversary, but by their mutual obstinacy, —

1 Life of Akenside.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XXXW1

the one refusing to fight in the morning, the other
in the afternoon.1 " Yet," adds Sir John Haw-
kins, who writes with no unfriendly feeling towards
our poet, " where there was no competition for
applause or literary reputation, he was an easy
companion, and would bear with such rudeness
as would have angered almost any one. Sax by,
of the Custom-house, who was every evening at
Tom's, and, by the bluntness of his behaviour and
the many shrewd sayings he was used to utter, had
acquired the privilege of Thersites, of saying what-
ever he would, was once in my hearing inveighing
against the profession of physic, which Akenside
took upon him to defend. This railer, after la-
bouring to prove that it was all imposture, con-
cluded his discourse with this sentiment : ' Doc-
tor,' said he, c after all you have said, my opinion
of the profession of physic is this, the ancients
endeavoured to make it a science and failed, and
the moderns to make it a trade and have suc-
ceeded.' Akenside took his sarcasm in good part,

and joined in the laugh which it occasioned

Akenside was a man of religion and strict virtue,
a philosopher, a scholar, and a fine poet His
conversation was of the most delightful kind,
learned, instructive, and, without any affectation
of wit, cheerful and entertaining. One of the
pleasantest days of my life I passed with him, Mr.
Dyson, and another friend, at Putney bowling-
green house, where a neat and elegant dinner, the

1 There is truth in the remark of Mr. Bucke, that " to
challenge a man like Ballow must have been a punish-
ment to the sensitive mind of Akenside, in itself suffi-
cient, for having given way to a weakness so unworthy
of a poet of high rank, and more especially a philosopher
of no mean order." Life of Akenside^ 179.

XXXV111 LIFE Of AKENSIDE.

enlivening sunshine of a summer's day, and the
view of an unclouded sky, were the least of our
gratifications. In perfect good-humour with him-
self and all around him, he seemed to feel a joy
that he lived, and poured out his gratulations to
the great Dispenser of all felicity in expressions
that Plato himself might have uttered on such an
occasion. In conversations with select friends,
and those whose course of study had been nearly
the same with his own, it was an usual thing with
him, in libations to the memory of eminent men
among the ancients, to bring their characters into
view, and thereby give occasion to expatiate on
those particulars of their lives that had rendered
them famous : his method was to arrange them into
three classes, philosophers, poets, and legislators.
" That a character thus formed should fail of
recommending itself to general esteem, and of pro-
curing to the possessor of it those benefits which
it is in the power of mankind to bestow, may seem
a wonder, but it is often seen that negative quali-
ties are more conducive to this end than positive ;
and that, with no higher a character than is attain-
able by any one who with a studious taciturnity
will keep his opinions to himself, conform to the
practice of others, and entertain neither friendship
for nor enmity against any one, a competitor for
the good opinion of the world, nay for emoluments
and even dignities, stands a better chance of suc-
cess than one of the most established reputation
for learning and ingenuity. The truth of this ob-
servation Akenside himself lived to experience,
who, in a competition for the place of physician
to the Charter-house, was unable to prevail against
an obscure man, devoid of every quality that might
serve to recommend him, and whose sole merit was

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XXXIX

that of being distantly related to the late Lord
Holland."1

Akenside's practice, Mr. Bucke informs us, was
obstructed by his dislike of being all things to all
men, and in a still greater degree, by his fame as
a poet.2 I believe that it was greatly impeded by
his forbidding manners to strangers : he was ex-
cessively stiff and formal ; and if any one ventured
to smile in the apartments of the sick, he checked
them with a frown.3 Some anecdotes, which charge
him with cruely to hospital-patients, will be after-
wards cited. That he was a scientific and acute
physician4 is testified by his works, which I have
heard more than one member of the profession
mention in terms of praise.

Among his friends, and, it should seem, his pa-
tients, he now included the Honourable Charles
Townshend, who, for his parliamentary eloquence,
has been termed by Burke " a prodigy," and who,
at a later period, became Chancellor of the Ex-
chequer. To this distinguished statesman Aken-
side addressed two Odes, the longer of which is
dated 1750 : but, from some unknown cause, their
friendship subsequently ceased. " Sir," said Johnson
to Boswell, " a man is very apt to complain of the
ingratitude of those who have risen far above him.
A man when he gets into a higher sphere, into
other habits of life, cannot keep up all his former
connections. Then, sir, those who knew him for-
merly upon a level with themselves may think that

1 Life of Johnson, pp. 244—248, ed. 1787.

2 Life ofAkeiiside, 86.

3 So a Mr. Meyrick told Mr. Bucke. Id. 29.

4 Mr. Justice Hardinge thought otherwise (see some
anecdotes afterwards quoted iu this Memoir) ; but his
opinion en the subject carries no weight.

xl LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

they ought still to be treated as on a level, which
cannot be ; and an acquaintance in a former situa-
tion may bring out things which it would be very
disagreeable to have mentioned before higher com-
pany, though, perhaps, everybody knows of them."
Boswell presently adds : " Dr. Johnson's remark
as to the jealousy entertained of our friends who
rise far above us is certainly very just. By this
was withered the early friendship between Charles
Townshend and Akenside." The recent editor of
Boswell's work justly observes that " this is no
appropriate instance. Charles Townshend, — the
nephew of the prime minister, — the son of a peer,
who was secretary of state, and leader of the House
of Lords, was as much above Akenside in their ear-
liest days as at any subsequent period ; nor was
Akenside in rank inferior to Dr. Brocklesby, with
whom Charles Townshend continued in intimate
friendship to the end of his life." :

In 1750 (according to Mr. Bucke) he also ad-
dressed an Ode To William Hall, Esq., with the
Works of Chaulieu. Mr. Hall belonged to the
Middle Temple, and moved in the best society ;
composed verses of considerable elegance, and was
the intimate friend of Markland ;2 but in licen-

1 Boswell's Life of Johnson, ed. Croker, iii. 367-8. —
Mr. Bucke carelessly attributes to Johnson the remark of
Boswell, on the friendship of Townshend and our poet.
Life of Akenside, 117.

2 To Mr. Hall, at whose expense it was originally
printed, Markland dedicated his treatise De Grcecorum
Quinta Declinatione Imparisyllabica, fyc. — Hall frequented
Tom's Coffee-house in Devereux Court (Nichols's Lit. An.
iv. 327), where, perhaps, Akenside became acquainted
with him. He fell into a wretched state of idiotcy, and
died a maniac at Bath in 1766. — For pleasing specimens
of his poetical powers, see two copies of verses to Miss

LIFE OF AKEXSIDE. xli

tlousness of life he seems to have exceeded the
French Abbe whose poems were presented to him.

In 1751, on the appearance of a work from the
pen of Frederic, King of Prussia, entitled Me-
moires pour servir a VHistoire de la Maison de
Brandenbourg, Akensi.de wrote a short Ode To the
Author, &c, exposing the dangerous tendency of
certain passages ; also, an Ode to Thomas Edwards,
on Warburton's edition of Pope's Works, which
will be more particularly mentioned when we
arrive at the period of its publication.

During the same year, he was held up to ridi-
cule in the Peregrine Pickle of Smollett, who,
though his propensity to personal satire scarcely
needed such incitement, is said to have been piqued
at some reflections1 which the poet had cast on
Scotland, soon after his return from Edinburgh.
That the ode-writing " Doctor," who raves about
liberty, and treats his friends to an entertainment
in the manner of the ancients, was intended for a
caricature of Akenside would have been evident
enough, even if the pedant had not been made to
quote, as his own composition, two lines from the
Ode to the Earl of Hunting don.0-

Lawrence in Dodsley's Coll. of Poems, v. 219, 329, — Va-
cation, To a Lady very handsome but too fond of dress, and
Anacreon, Ode iii. Id. vi. 163 — 172, ed. 1782, also a Son-
net on Lauder's Forgeries, to Nicholas Hardinge, in Nichols 's
Lit. An. viii. 520.

1 Moore's Life of Smollett, cxxiii.

2 "Would to heaven," said he [i.e. the "Doctor"],
u my Muse were blessed with an occasion to emulate that
glorious testimony on the trophy in Cyprus, erected by Ci-
mon, for two great victories gained on the same day over the
Persians by sea and land; in which it is very remarkable,
that the greatness of the occasion has raised the manner of
expression above the usual simplicity and modesty of all
other ancient inscriptions.' " — Peregrine Pickle, ii. 248. ed.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

In 1753, Akenside was admitted by mandamus
to a Doctor's Degree at Cambridge, and elected
Fellow of the Royal Society : in 1754 he became
Fellow of the College of Physicians.1

1751. "What I have marked in Italics is from Akenside's
note on the Ode to the Earl of*Huntingdon : see p. 199 of
the present volume. " 0 fool ! to think the man, whose
ample mind must grasp whatever yonder stars survey — Pray,
Mr. Pallet, what is your opinion of that image of the
mind grasping the whole universe ? For my own part, I
can't help thinking it the most happy conception that ever
entered my imagination." Per. Pickle, ii. 110, ed. 1751,
— and Smollett's Works (by Moore), iii. 330. — Desirous,
it should seem, of repairing the injustice he had done to
our author, Smollett, in the Continuation of the Complete
Hist, of England, says, " Akenside and Armstrong excelled
in didactic poetry," iv. 126.

1 See Cantab. Grad. — Mr. Bucke erroneously states
that he took his Cambridge degree soon after returning
from Holland. Life of Akenside, 173. — The date of his
election by the Royal Society I owe to J. Hudson, Esq.
— For the following extracts from the annals of the Col-
lege of Physicians I have to thank Dr. Francis Hawkins,
their Registrar : — -

" 1751, May 3rd, Dr. Akenside was summoned to attend
the Censor's Board, at the Royal College of Physi-
cians.
June 6th, examined first time by that Board.
Jane 20th, examined second time, when he produced a
Diploma from the University of Leyden, dated May
16th, 1744.
June 25th, admitted Licentiate of the College of Phy-
sicians.

1752. The College of Physicians wrote to the Vice Chan-
cellor of the University of Cambridge to signify that
the College had no objection to the Degree of M.D,
being conferred on Dr. Akenside by Mandamus.

1753. Feb. 2nd, he was examined a first time as a candi-
date for the Fellowship of the College.

Feb. 9th, examined a second time, when he produced a

Diploma from Cambridge, dated Jan. 4th, 1753.
March 8th, examined third time.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. xliH

That he was unwilling to cross the paths of his
old antagonist, appears from the following note to
Dr. Birch :l

" Dear Sir,
" I return yoii thanks for the pleasure which I have
had in reading these two books,

" I see this instant, in the Public Advertiser, that Dr.
Warburton is made King's Chaplain, and enters into
waiting immediately. Can you tell me whether this be
true ? If there be any hazard of finding him at Kensing-
ton, I shall not cliuse to go thither to-day. I am your
affectionate humble servant.

" M. Akenside."
" Bloomsbv Square,
" Saturday Morn." [Sept. 28, 1754.]

His encomiastic Ode to the Bishop of Winchester
bears date the same year. This prelate was the
celebrated controversialist, Dr. Hoadley, whose
political opinions accorded with the poet's.

In June,2 1755. Akenside read the Gulstonian
Lectures before the College of Physicians ; a por-
tion of which, on the origin and use of the lymph-
atic vessels in animals, was again read at a meet-
ing of the Royal Society, and printed in the Phi-
losophical Transactions for 1757.3 Xext year lie

April 16, admitted a Candidate of the College.

1754, April 8th, admitted Fellow.

1755, Sep. 30th, chosen Fourth Censor of the College,
with Drs. Heberden, Coxe, and William Pitcairn, Dr.
Reeve being President."

1 Letters to Br. Birch, 4300, in the Brit. Mus.

2 See the two following notes: — but Dr. Francis Haw-
kins, Registrar to the College, informs me, that, according
to the entries in their annals, Akenside read the Gulsto-
nian Lectures on May 28, 29 and 30.

3 Vol. I. Part I. p. 322: — Observations on the Origin
and Use of the Lymphatic Vessels of Animals : being an
extract from the Gulstonian Lectures, read in the Theatre

xliv

LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

published a short pamphlet,1 in reply to certain
animadversions on this essay by Dr. Alexander

of the College of Physicians of London, in June, 1755: con-
sisting of six pages. In consequence of a misprint in this
essay, Akenside wrote the following letter to the author
of Clarissa, who, it may be necessary to inform some
readers, was a printer : —

" To Mr. Richardson, in Salisbury Court,
a gIR Fleet Street.

" I return you many thanks for sending me the sheet
about which I wrote to you. I find in it an erratum of
that unlucky sort which does not make absolute non-
sense, but only conveys a false and. absurd idea. The
sheet is mark'd Tt; and in page 328, and line 9th from
the bottom, stream is printed instead of steam. If you can
without much trouble either print this as an erratum, or
rather let somebody with a stroke of a pen blot out the r,
as the sheets are dried, I should be greatly oblig'd. I am,
Sir, with true respect, your most humble servant,

" M. Akenside."
" Bloomsb. Square, Jan. 25."
Letters to Br. Birch, §-c, 4300, in Brit. Mus.
_ l Notes on the Postscript to a Pamphlet entitled « Observa-
tions Anatomical and Physiological, 8fc.} by Alexander Mon-
ro, Junior, 3LD., Professor of Anatomy, §•<?., Edinburgh,
August, mdcclviii.' 8vo. pp. 24, pr. 6d.~ Our author
writes in the third person, and commences the tract with
this clear statement of facts : " Dr. Akenside did, it
seems, so long ago as June 1755, in certain annual lec-
tures which he read in his turn at the College of Physi-
cians, advance a new theory concerning these [lymphatic]
vessels ; a theory which he had at first drawn out for him-
self, and of which, before that time, no mention had been
made to the public. He did not then print any part of
what he had read, thinking, perhaps, that his notion was
already sufficiently made known, by being stated at a
public lecture before a numerous audience of physicians
and other persons qualified to judge of what he advanc'd,
and with an explicit account of the evidence on which he
founded it. ^ Some time afterwards, when a dispute about
this very point had arisen between two other gentlemen,
each of them for himself laying claim to the discovery,

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. XlV

Monro of Edinburgh, among which was an insinua-
tion that Akenside's theory was derived from his
treatise De Glandulis Lymphaticis.

Here may be introduced another short note1 to
Dr. Birch :—

" Dear Sir,
" Have you got the letters concerning Hume's History ?
I grudge to buy them. If you have them, and can spare
them so long, I should be much oblig'd if you would let
me have them a few hours. I am a sort of invalid, just
enough to confine me. Your affectionate humble servant,

" M. Akenside."
" Bloomsb. Square,
" Wednesday Mam." [March 3d, 1756.]

On the 7th. 8th. and 9th of September,2 1756,
he read the Croonian Lectures before the College
of Physicians. According to Kippis, their subject
was the History of the Revival of Learning, to
which some of the members objected as " foreign
to the institution," and Akenside, after three lec-
tures, gave up the task in disgust.3

Dr. A. was prevailed upon to give in at a meeting of the
Royal Society so much of his lectures as related to the
subject in question. Accordingly this was read as a pas-
sage taken from those lectures ; the same title being then
prefixed to it which it now bears in print ; and several
gentlemen being then present who had formerly heard the
lectures themselves. The paper was published by the
council of the society." Monro's treatise on the Lymph-
atics, from which he insinuated that Akenside borrowed
his ideas, did not arrive in England till 1756.

1 Letters to Dr. Birch, 4300, in the Brit. Mus.

2 From the information of Dr. Francis Hawkins, Re-
gistrar to the Coll. of Ph.

3 Biog. Brit. There is some doubt as to the correctness
of Kippis's statement, that Akenside gave up the Croonian
Lectures in disgust. The election of lecturer then, as
now, was for a year only, and the course has always con-

yK

LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

The first book of his re -modelled Pleasures of
Imagination is dated 1757. The poem, says Mr.
Dyson, appeared originally " at a very early part
of the author's life : that it wanted revision and
correction he was sufficiently sensible ; but so
quick was the demand for several successive re-
publications, that in any of the intervals to have
completed the whole of his corrections was utterly
impossible ; and yet to have gone on from time to
time in making farther improvements in every
new edition would, he thought, have had the ap-
pearance at least of abusing the favour of the
public : he chose, therefore, to continue for some
time reprinting it without alteration, and to for-
bear publishing any corrections or improvements
until he should be able at once to give them to
the public complete : and with this view he went
on for several years to review and correct the poem
at his leisure, till at length he found the task grow
so much upon his hands, that, despairing of ever
being able to execute it sufficiently to his own
satisfaction, he abandoned the purpose of correct-
ing, and resolved to write the poem over anew,
upon a somewhat different and an enlarged plan."1

In 17582 he endeavoured to excite the martial

sisted of three lectures : these Akenside delivered on Sept.
7, 8, 9, 1756, when his office naturally terminated. The
College annals mention Akenside's Lectures on these days,
but do not contain any farther notice concerning them or
him. — Ed.

1 Advertisement to Mr. Dyson's ed. of Akenside's Poems,
1772.

2 Quarto, pr. 6c?.: see List of Books for March, 1758,
in Gent, Mag. Its motto is,

" rusticorum mascula militum

Proles, Sabellis docta ligonibus
Versare glebas." Hon.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. xlvil

spirit of the nation by an Ode to the Country Gen-
tlemen of England. " Mr. Elliott, father of Lord
Minto," says the late Mr. Justice Hardinge,1
" made an admirable speech in support of the
Scotch Militia, which I had the good fortune to
hear when I was a boy : and it was reported, that,
when commended as he was on every side for that
performance, 'If I was above myself,' he answered,
4 1 can account for it ; for I had been animated by
the sublime Ode of Dr. Akenside.' "

He, soon after,2 suffered a severe attack of sick-
ness ; on the abatement of which he removed, for
change of air, to Goulder's Hill, the seat of Mr.
Dyson : and during a short stay under that friendly
roof, he composed his Ode on Recovering, Sfc,
which contains an elegant allusion to the recent
marriage of his patron.

Few miscellanies had been so favourably re-
ceived by the public as Dodsley's Collection of
Poems ; and in consequence of its undiminished
popularity, it was enlarged by two additional vo-
lumes in 175 8. -3 To the sixth volume Akenside

Whitehead, the laureat, published at the same time Verses
to the People of England. On these two effusions Byrom
wrote some rhyming Remarks, in which he says :
" Really these fighting poets want a tutor,
To teach them ultra crepidam ne sutor ;
To teach the doctor, and to teach the laureat,
Ex Helicone sanguinem ne hauriat :
Tho' blood and wounds infect its limpid stream,
It should run clear before they sing a theme."

1 In a long letter concerning Akenside (the rest of
which will be afterwards quoted). Nichols's ///. of Lit,
Hist. viii. 524.

2 " My harp, which late resounded o'er the land

The voice of glory," &c.

3 Dodsley's Collection appeared first in three volumes,

xlviii LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

contributed a Hymn to the Naiads; Ode to the Earl
of Huntingdon ; Ode to the Bishop of Winchester ;
Inscription for a Grotto ; For a statue of Chaucer
at Woodstock; one beginning "Whoe'er thou art,"
&c. ;l For a statue of Shakespeare ; On William the
Third; For a column at Runnymede ; and an Ode,
" If rightly tuneful bards decide," &c. None of
these pieces, except the second in the list, had
previously appeared.

A publication of this year (1758), addressed to
our author, must not pass unnoticed. It is The
Call of Aristippus? an Epistle in rhyme, by the
ingenious John Gilbert Cooper, who, designating
Akenside as the " Twofold Disciple of Apollo,"
assures him that in Elysium Plato and Virgil shall
weave him a never-fading crown, while Lucretius,
Pindar, and Horace shall willingly yield him pre-
cedence. The panegyric is rendered worthless by
its extravagance.

In January, 1759, Akenside was appointed as-
sistant Physician to St .Thomas's Hospital, and two
months after, principal Physician. In the same
year he became assistant Physician to Christ's
Hospital. Of his behaviour, in his official capa-
city, at the former institution, the following anec-

in 1748 ; the fourth volume came out in 1755; the fifth
and sixth volumes were published in 1758.

1 Mr. Bucke, on the authority of Sir Grey Cooper,
states that the Inscription, " Whoe'er thou art," &c, tells
faithfully the melancholy fate of a young gentleman,
named Weybridge, who came early into possession of a
small property in the County of Northumberland. Life
of Akenside, 83.

2 It was a sequel to three Epistles to the Great, from
Aristippus in Retirement, 4to. — Cooper had previously
mentioned Akenside with absurdly exaggerated commen-
dation in Letters concerning Taste: see ed. 1755, p. 101.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. xllX

dotes are preserved. As they must tend to lower
him in the estimation of the reader, I transcribe
them with a feeling of reluctance ; but I should
not have thought myself justified in suppressing
them, as Mr. Bucke has done, even if they had
been derived from a less respectable source than
the Memoirs of Dr. Lettsom. I am willing, how-
ever, to believe that practice at an hospital may
frequently present occurrences to disturb the tem-
per of the mildest physician.

" Lettsom, when a young man," says Mr. Petti-
grew, " entered, at St. Thomas's Hospital, as a
surgeon's dresser, under Benjamin Cowell, Esq.
The other Surgeons were Mr. Baker and Mr.
Smith, men of no great eminence. The Physicians
were Akenside, Russell, and Grieve. Lettsom was
early fond of poetry, and had read the ' Pleasures
of Imagination ' with admiration. He anticipated
great pleasure in coming under the author's no-
tice ; for, by a small premium, a Surgeon's pupil
is admitted to the practice of the Physicians of the
Hospital. Great, however, was his disappointment
in finding Dr. Akenside the most supercilious and
unfeeling physician that he had hitherto known.
If the poor affrighted patients did not return a
direct answer to his queries, he would often in-
stantly discharge them from the Hospital. He
evinced a particular disgust to females, and gene-
rally treated them with harshness. It was stated
that this moroseness was occasioned by disappoint-
ment in love ; but hapless must have been that
female who should have been placed under his
tyranny. Lettsom was inexpressibly shocked at
an instance of Akenside's inhumanity, exercised
towards a patient in Abraham's Ward, to whom he
had ordered bark in boluses ; who, in consequence
e

1 LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

of not being able to swallow them, so irritated
Akenside, as to order the sister of the Ward to
discharge him from the hospital ; adding, 4 he shall
not die under my care.* As the sister was remov-
ing him, in obedience to the Doctor, the patient
expired. One leg of Dr. Akenside was consider-
ably shorter than the other, which was in some
measure remedied by the aid of a false heel. He
had a pale strumous countenance, but was always
very neat and elegant in his dress. He wore a
large white wig, and carried a long sword. Lett-
som never knew him to spit, nor would he suffer
any pupil to spit in his presence. One of them
once accidentally did so, yet standing at some dis-
tance behind him. The Doctor instantly spun
round on his artificial heel, and hastily demanded
who was the person that spit in his face ? Some-
times he would order some of the patients, on his
visiting days, to precede him with brooms to clear
the way, and prevent the patients from too nearly
approaching him. On one of these occasions, Rich-
ard Chester, one of the Governors, upbraided him
for his cruel behaviour : ' Know,' said he, ' thou
art a servant of this Charity.' On one occasion
his anger was excited to a very high pitch by the
answer which Mr. Baker, the Surgeon, gave to a
question the Doctor put to him, respecting one of
his sons, who was subject to epilepsy, which had
somewhat impaired his understanding. — ' To what
study do you purpose to place him ?' said Aken-
side to Baker. c I find,' replied Baker, ' he is not
capable of making a Surgeon, so I have sent him
to Edinburgh to make a Physician of him.' Aken-
side turned round from Baker with impetuosity,
and would not speak to him for a considerable time
afterwards. Dr. Russell was as condescending as

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. ll

Akenside was petulant. Akenside, however, would
sometimes condescend to explain a case of disease
to the pupils, wliieh always appeared sagacious ;
and, notwithstanding his irritable temper, he was
more followed than Russell by the pupils."1

In October, 1759, Akenside delivered the Har-
veian Oration before the College of Physicians, by
whose order it was next year given to the press.2

In June, 1761, Mr. Thomas Hollis (as his bio-
grapher informs us) " bought a bed which once
belonged to John Milton, and on which he died.
This bed he sent as a present to Dr. Akenside, with
the following card : 4 An English gentleman is de-
sirous of having the honour to present a bed which
once belonged to John Milton, and on which he
died, to Dr. Akenside ; and if the Doctor's genius,
believing himself obliged, and having slept in that
bed, should prompt him to write an ode to the
memory of John Milton, and the assertors of Bri-
tish liberty, that gentleman would think himself
abundantly recompensed.' The Doctor seemed
wonderfully delighted with this bed, and had it
put up in his house. But more we do not know
of the delight the Doctor took in his present ; nor
the least memorandum of an acknowledgment to
Mr. Hollis, through Mr. Payne or otherwise, for
it appearing. And as to the ode, the Doctor might
learn from his friend Dyson, that an encomium of
Milton, as an assertor of British liberty, at that

1 Pettigrew's Memoirs of Dr. Lettsom, i. 21.

2 Oratio Anniversaria, quam ex Harveii instituto in
theatro Collegii JRegalis Medicorum Londinensis Die Octo-
bris xviii A MD CCLIX habuit Marcus Akenside, 31. D.
Coll. Med. etReg. Societ. Socius. 1760, 4to. pp. 24. — It is
dedicated to Dr. Reeve, the President, and to the Fellows
of the College of Physicians.

Hi LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

time of the day, was not the thing."1 The sneer-
ing allusion in the latter part of this passage will
be explained by the circumstances which I have
now to relate, and which, perhaps, made the de-
mocrat Hollis think Akenside no longer fit to oc-
cupy the bed of Milton.

Hitherto both Mr. Dyson and our poet had
espoused the cause of liberty with such an ardour
as to induce suspicions, certainly unjust, that they
were the advocates of republicanism. On the ac-
cession, however, of George the Third, the former
suddenly became a Tory, and the supporter of
Lord Bute ; and though the general excellence of
his character forbids us to believe for one moment
that his conversion was purchased, it would be
difficult to clear him from the charge of inconsis-
tency. By Mr. Dyson's influence, Akenside was
appointed one of the Physicians to the Queen, on
the settlement of her Majesty's household in 1761 ;2
and, from that period, his Whig acquaintances, in
whose eyes the acceptance of such a situation was
a dereliction of principle, regarded his political
apostacy as not less flagrant than that of his pa-
tron. The subject now in question being several
times alluded to in the following curious anec-
dotes, I have reserved them for this part of the
Memoir. They are from the pen of Mr. Justice
Hardinge,3 whose father Mr. Dyson succeeded as

1 Memoirs of Thomas Hollis, 111.

2 In the " List of the establishment made by his Ma-
jesty for the household of the future Queen/' printed in
The St. James's Chronicle for September 5th, 1761, we
find, —

" Physicians, Dr. Letherland, Dr. Akenside.
Physician to the Household, Dr. Pringle."

3 George Hardinge, senior Justice of the Counties of

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. Kii

Clerk to the House of Commons,1 and to whose
uncle, the physician, our poet has addressed an
Ode.2

" Dr. Akensidewas known to my father, as being
Mr. Dyson's friend, long before he was known to
me. As to Mr. Dyson's knowledge of Mr. Har-
dinge, it originated in their contract for the suc-
cession of Mr. Dyson to the post of Chief Clerk
in the House of Commons, when Mr. Hardinge
was preparing to resign it ; and the intercourse,
ripening into mutual esteem, produced a cordial
friendship, which lasted as long as Mr. Hardinge
lived.

" The first I can recollect of my own personal
acquaintance with Dr. Aken side's name and Muse,
was my father's recital to me, when I was a boy at
Eton School, of the invocation to ancient Greece,
in that celebrated Poem which has been so depre-
ciated by Dr. Johnson, that I fear no error of
judgment and of taste, manifest in that criticism,
can redeem the censure from heavier imputations.
This inspired passage, as I think it still, was re-
commended additionally to me by the charm of
recitation, in which not even Garrick himself could
be superior to Mr. Nicholas Hardinge ; though he
wanted either nerves or power to make a figure in
the House of Commons, and though he had no
musical ear. But his reading and repeating ear, if
I may use that phrase, was exquisite ; and his ac-
cent, prompted by his judgment, uniformly just.
It is very singular, but it is true, that Akenside
was not a ^ood reader of his own verse.

Brecon, Glamorgan, and Radnor. He died at Presteigne,
April 26th, 1816, in his seventy-second year.
1 See page xxxi. of this Memoir. 2 See page xxxiv. id.

liv LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

" My father admired him, as a gifted poet, as a
man of genius, of learning, and of taste. They
were upon friendly terms. I have heard Aken-
side represent my father as a man of admirable
taste and judgment, of perfect honour, and of the
kindest affections that ever breathed in a human
breast. As I grew up into man, Akenside honoured
me with a most affectionate regard ; which I for-
feited, as you will have occasion to see, a little be-
fore his death, to my infinite regret ; but, I am
sorry to add, with no remorse ; for I was more
sinnd against than sinning?

" When I was at College, he sent me a letter of
advice and of directions for the course of my aca-
demical studies, which in style and conception was
the most ingenious and masterly work that ever
that arduous topic has produced. In general, to
do him justice, he wrote English prose with purity,
with ease, and with spirit ; in verse, he was occa-
sionally a little quaint, laboured, and inflated ; but
I never discerned any such vice in his prose.

" When I came from College to the Inns of
Court, besides the opportunity of seeing him often
at Mr. Dyson's house, and with my uncle, Dr. Har-
dinge, I was often his dinner-guest, and generally
with him alone. In addition to all his powers,
arising from his genius and his eloquence, I had
the enjoyment of his portfolio, enriched by capital
prints from the most eminent painters of Italy
and Holland, which he illustrated with admirable
taste.

14 He had in general society a pomp and stiff-
ness of manner, not of expression, in which last he
was no less chaste than flowing and correct. But
the misfortune of this manner was in some degree
connected with his figure and appearance. lie

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. lv

looked as if he never could be undressed ; and the
hitch in his gait, whatever gave rise to it (a sub-
ject of obloquy too despicable to be answered, and
which I am sorry to see that you have transcribed),
compared with a solemn cast in his features, was,
at the best, of a kind that was not companionable,
and rather kept strangers at a distance from him.
Though his features were good, manly, and ex-
pressive, a pale complexion of rather a sickly hue,
and the laboured, primness of a powdered wig in
stiff curl, made his appearance altogether unpro-
mising, if not grotesque. But, where he was inti-
mate, was admired, and was pleased with his party,
he conversed most eloquently and gracefully. He
had the misfortune, however, to have little or no
taste for humour; and he took a jest1 very ill. Ex-
cept in his political morality, which I could not ad-
mire, Dr. Akenside was a man of perfect honour,
friendly, and liberal. His religious opinions were,
I believe, a little whimsical and peculiar ; but in
general he kept them very much to himself. He
and Mr. Dyson had both originally been Dis-
senters. He was irritable ; had little restraint
upon his temper among strangers, and was either
peevish or too oracular and sententious. He
wanted gaiety of heart in society, and had no wit
in his Muse, or in his eloquence. I don't believe
he had much depth of medical science, or much
acuteness of medical sagacity ; he certainly had no
business or fame in that line. His great powers,
besides the talent of poetry, were those of elo-
quent reasoning, historical knowledge, and philo-

1 " Dr. Akenside had no wit," says Mr. Justice Har-
dinge, in a subsequent communication to Mr, Nichols,
Lit. Anec. viii. 525.

Ivi LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

sophical taste, enlivened by the happiest and most
brilliant allusions. He had an astonishing me-
mory, and a most luminous application of it. I
recollect that he read gratis all the modern books
of any character, and that he had the right con-
ferred upon him of opening the leaves. His com-
ments were cherished ; and if the book struck him
with a powerful impression, I believe it was gene-
rally given to him by the bookseller.

" He lived incomparably well ; and as I knew
of no other source to his income but his constant
friend Mr. Dyson's munificence to him, I rejoiced
in it, for the honour of them both. I never saw
anything like their friendship and their union of
sentiments ; yet nothing was more dissimilar than
were the two men. Mr. Dyson was quite a man
of business, of order, and figures — of parliamen-
tary forms — and of political argument. His cha-
racter (bating an amiable partiality in the Eulo-
gist) is well drawn by Mr. Hatsell. He had neither
fancy nor eloquence ; and though he had strong
prejudices, he veiled them in obliging manners.

" The misfortune of their politics (and I was the
victim of it in some degree) was, that, upon the
accession of this reign, they entirely and radically
changed them ; for they became bigoted adherents
to Lord Bute and the Tories, having at every ear-
lier period been, as it were, the High Priests of
the opposite creed. Mr. Dyson was preferred, and
was ultimately pensioned. His friend, whom he
always bore in mind, was made Physician to the
Queen — Ex Mo fluere — from that period both of
them were converts, and zealots, of course, for the
New Religion, My uncle, Dr. Hardinge, whose
wit and penetrating judgment had no delicacy in
their blow, often told them both when they were

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. lvii

young men (and with ah oath which I must not
repeat) * that, like a couple of idiots, they did not
leave themselves a loop-hole — they could not sidle
away into the opposite creed.'

" As my opinions were naturally upon the same
line of politics which Lord Camden1 uniformly
adopted and pursued, I offended my admired friend
the Poet by too open a disclosure of my political
faith, insignificant, qualified, and perfectly unas-
suming as it was. It made a coolness between us
— but I believe that his original friendship to me
was never essentially impaired.

" My uncle, Dr. Hardinge, was a comic tyrant
over all his friends. I shall never be able to for-
get an evening of Civil War, and another of Peace,
between those two Physicians. Dr. Akenside was
the guest ; and at supper, by a whimsical accident,
they fell into a dispute upon the subject of a bilious
colic. They were both of them absurdly eager.
Dr. Hardinge had a contempt for every physician
but himself; and he held the Poet very cheap in
that line. He laughed at him, and said the rudest
things to him. The other, who never took a jest
in good part, named into invective; and Mrs. Har-
dinge, as clever in a different way as either of
them, could with difficulty keep the peace between
them. Dr. Akenside ordered his chariot, and swore
that he would never come into the house again.
The other, who was the kindest-hearted of men,
feeling that he had goaded his friend, called upon
him the next morning, and, in a manner quite his
own, made a perfect reconcilement, which termi-
nated in a pacific supper the following night, when,

1 Mr. Justice Hardinge was the nephew of this noble-
man.

lviii LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

by a powerful stroke of humour, the Host con-
vulsed the sides of his Guest with laughter, and
they were in delightful unison together the whole
evening. ' Do you kn — kn — know, Doctor,' said
he (for he stammered), ' that I b — bought a cu-
rious pamphlet this m — morning upon a st — stall,
and I'll give you the t — title of it ; An Ace —
count of a curious dispute between D — Dr. Y. and
D — Dr. Z. concerning a b — b — bilious c — colic,
which terminated in a d — duel between the two
- Ph — Physicians, which t — terminated in the d —

death of both'1

" As far as I can recollect, his friends, besides
Mr. Dyson, were chiefly Dr. Heberclen, Dr. Har-
dinge, Mr. Crach erode, Mr. Thomas Townshencl,
the first Lord Sydney's father, Mr. Tyrwhitt, the
Archbishop of York, and Mr. Wray. He was a
most unprejudiced and candid estimator of con-
temporary poets, for which I admired him the
more on account of its amiable singidarity.

" But I must not forget here to mention per-
haps the most curious feature of his life. It is in
the partial but very awkward change which his
new Politics at Court made in those of the Poet.
You will find a memorable proof to this point. In
the first edition of the work these lines appear :

' Wilt thou, eternal Harmony ! descend
And join the festive train? for with thee comes
The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports,
Majestic Truth; and where Truth deigns to come,
Her Sister, Liberty, will not be far.'

Pleasures of Imagination, Bk. iv. 20.

And in the enlarged edition :

1 Here I have omitted some critical remarks by Mr.
Hardinge on Akenside's poetry, and the anecdote of Mr.
Elliott already quoted ; see p. xlvi. of this Memoir.

LIFE OF AKENS1DE. lix

1 for with thee comes
The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites,
Wise Order ; and where Order deigns to come,
Her Sister, Liberty, will not be far.' Ml

Pleasures of Imagination, Bk. iv. 38.

After all, neither in the alterations just pointed
out, nor in others made by the author in his Odes*
is there anything indicative of violent Tory zeal ;
and it should be remembered that Mr. Hardinge,
who asserts in the above anecdotes that Akenside
became as bigoted a partisan of the Tories as he
had been of the Whigs, has elsewhere declared that
41 his politics were illegible.'''3

1 Nichols's Lit. Anec. viii. 521, 525.

2 In the Ode On leaving Holland, the three following
lines,

' I go where freedom in the streets is known,

And tells a monarch on his throne,

Tells him he reigns, he lives but by her voice,'

are thus changed in the third edition :

* I go where Liberty to all is known,

And tells a monarch on his throne,

He reigns not but by her preserving voice.'

In the Ode To the Earl of Huntingdon, the four subsequent
lines which originally were,

' But here where freedom's equal throne
To all her valiant sons is known ;
Wliere all direct the sword she wears,
And each the power which rules him shares ;'

are corrected as follows, in the third line,

' Where all are conscious of her cares.''

Whatever may be thought of these particular alterations,
it is certain that a most ardent spirit of liberty breathes
through Dr. Akenside's works." Biog. Brit. — note by
Kippis.

3 " His [H. Walpole's] politics were as illegible, if I may
use that phrase, as those of Dr. Akenside." Nichols's ///.
of Lit, Hist. viii. 526.

lx LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

We have been told, in the preceding page that
Akenside " was a most unprejudiced and candid
estimator of contemporary poets ;" and the remark
will be illustrated by the scattered notices which
I shall now throw together.

In the course of a conversation on Pope's Essay
on Man, he assented to the opinion of Joseph War-
ton, that " the fourth Epistle on Happiness is ad-
scititious, and out of its proper place, and ought
to have made part of the second Epistle, where
Man is considered with respect to himself."1

He was a great admirer of Gothic architecture,
and would frequently sit, by moonlight, on the
benches in St. James's Park, to gaze on Westmin-
ster Abbey ; " and I remember," adds Mr. Mey-
rick, " he once told me that he seldom thought of
the passage in his own poem,

* The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,' &c.
but he thought of a still finer one in Pope's Homer :

* As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,' " &c.2

It has been rashly supposed that in the following
passage of The Pleasures of Imagination he alludes
to Pope :

" Thee, too, facetious Momion,3 wandering here,
Thee, dreaded censor ! oft have I beheld
Bewildered unawares," &c. &c. Bk. iii. 179.

1 Warton's ed. of Pope's Works, iii. 123.

2 Bucke's Life of Akenside, 212.

3 The Archceologia JEiiana, vol. ii. part ii. Newcastle,
1830, containing An Account of the Life and Writings of
Richard JDaives, has just fallen into my hands. I learn
from it that Akenside had been a pupil of Dawes, when
that great scholar was head-master of the Grammar School
of Newcastle, to which office he was appointed in 1738 ;
and that in the character of Momion the poet was sup-

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 1X1

But there is every reason to believe that Akenside

never saw Pope, who died a few months after the
appearance of the poem, for which he had advised
Dodsley to make a handsome offer.1

With Thomson's Castle of Indolence he was en-
raptured: among many stanzas, to which, in his
own copy, he had put an emphatic mark of appro-
bation, was that beginning,

" I care not, fortune, what you me deny," &c.a

He repeatedly mentioned Fenton's Ode to Lord
Gower as " the best in our language, next to Alex-

posed to have described his old master. In a strange
pamphlet (so scarce that I have never been able to pro-
cure a sight of it) called Extracts from a MS. Pamphlet,
entitled the Tittle Tattle Mongers, which Dawes published
at Newcastle in 1747, are the following observations on
the passage of the Pleasures of Imagination, where Mo-
mion is mentioned. " A certain illustrious collection of
genii have thought proper to apply this character per-
sonally. The part of the brotherhood they take to them-
selves, and are so kind as to confer that of Momion upon
Philomerus [Dawes]. The poet, indeed, has absolutely
denied that the character was intended personally, and has
professed himself astonished at the application. But his
pleading non-intention with respect to another gentle-
man, after having declared himself astonished at what
was his doctrine, makes me entertain but a moderate
opinion of his veracity. And in this opinion I am con-
firmed by the conduct of his friends, the genii, who, not-
withstanding his remonstrance, persist in the application.
Nay, I am apt to believe that they, being acquainted with
his blushing diffidence, instigated, if not hired, him to un-
dertake so notable a prank." The words " blushing diffi-
dence" allude to a passage in the Pleasures of Imagination,
B. iii. 204, first ed.

" forgive my song,
That for the blushi?ig diffidence of youth," &c.

1 See p. ix. of this Memoir.

2 Bucke's Life of Akenside, 31 .

Ixii LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

ander's Feast j"1 and, at his desire, Welsted's Ode,
The Genius; ivritten in 1717, on occasion of the
Duke of Marlborough's Apoplexy, was inserted in
the fourth volume of Dodsley's Collection of Poems.
That he was on terms of intimacy with the au-
thor of The Fleece, and lent him some assistance
in the composition of that poem, appears from
a letter of Dyer to Duncombe, November 24th,
1756 : — " Your humble servant is become a deaf,
and dull, and languid creature ; who, however, in
his poor change of constitution, being a little re-
compensed with the critic's phlegm, has made shift,
by many blottings and corrections, and some helps
from his kind friend, Dr. Akenside, to give a sort
of finishing to the ' Fleece,' which is just sent up
to Mr. Dodsley."3 Johnson informs us that Aken-
side declared " he would regulate his opinion of
the reigning taste by the rule of Dyer's Fleece ;
for if that were ill-received, he should not think

1 Warton's ed. of Pope's Works, ii. 401.

2 Id. v. 198.— With Welsted, who died in 1747, Aken-
side is said to have been acquainted. His Works, pub-
lished by Nichols in 1787, contain several pieces -which
show that his talents at least did not deserve the contempt
of Pope.

3 Letters by several eminent Persons, including the Cor-
respondence of Hughes, iii. 58. — Yet Mr. Bucke says, it
does not appear that Akenside was intimate with Dyer !
Life of Akenside, 90. In an unpublished letter from J.
Edwards to Daniel Wray, dated Turrick, April 28, 1756,
is the following passage : " I am glad to hear that Dr.
Akenside has recovered Dyer again ; but has Dyer reco-
vered his poetical vein ? Alas, I fear we shall have no
Fleece at last. I hope the Doctor will publish the Ode
you mention to the Bishop of Winchester. I could have
wished he had not recalled the liberty he once gave me
to print that he honoured me with." [See Life of Aken-
side, p. Ixxv.]

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. kill

it any longer reasonable to expect fame from ex-
cellence."1 The works of Dyer, though neglected
by the multitude, will be always esteemed by the
reader of taste and feeling for the true poetic fancy
and the love of natural objects which they every-
where display.

A passage in The Pleasures of Imagination,

" To muse at last amid the ghostly gloom

Of graves, and hoary vaults/' &c. B. i. 396. 1st edit.

and a stanza in the Preface to the Odes,

" Xor where the boding raven chaunts,*' &c.

are said to have been aimed at Young, though I
cannot perceive in them such a " palpable stroke"
as Mrs. Barbauld2 has discovered. It has not,
however, been noticed that in the first edition of
the Hymn to Cheerfulness Akenside mentions the
author of the Night l^houghts by name :

u Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue
Instruct the nightly strains of Young :"

a couplet which he afterwards altered thus :

" Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue
Repeat what later hards have sung/'

The Ode On Lyric Poetry closes with a stanza
remarkable for its allusion to an epic poem which
ihe author meditated, as well as to a celebrated
77ork of the same kind by a contemporary writer:

" But Tvhen from envy and from death to claim
A hero bleeding for his native land ;
When to throw incense on the vestal flame
Of Liberty, my genius gives command,

Xor Theban voice, nor Lesbian lyre

From thee, 0 Muse, do I require ;

1 Life of Dyer.

2 Essay on " The Pleasures of Imagination"

IXIV LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

While my presaging mind,
Conscious of powers she never knew,
Astonished, grasps at things beyond her view,
Nor by another's fate submits to be confined."

Akenside had selected Timoleon1 for the hero of
his poem, in which, it appears, he had even made
some progress. The last line of the stanza (as he
told Warton) is pointed at the Leonidas of Glover.2
From this digression I return to the regular
annals of the poet's life. Among Birch's MSS.3
is the following note, which shows that he accom-
panied the deputation, sent by the University of
Cambridge to congratulate the King and Queen
on their nuptials :

" Dr. Akenside presents his compliments to Dr. Birch,
and begs the favour that he would lend him a band, in
order that he may attend the Cambridge address to-
morrow.

" Craven Street,
" Sept. 13." [1761.]

About two years before this date, Akenside had

1 Warton's ed. of Pope's Works, ii. 73. — A writer, who
signs himself Indagator, in the Gent Mag. for October,
1793 (lxiii. 885), says, " I have proof, though it has never
been mentioned to the world, that he had made some pro-
gress in an Epic Poem, the plan of which I know not ; the
title of it was Timoleon" — An Epic poem on the same
subject was once designed by Pope; and was also pro-
posed by Lord Melcombe to Thomson.

2 Warton's ed. of Pope's Works, ii. 73. — I may add
here, that Akenside agreed with Warton, Lowth, and
Harris, in thinking that no critical treatise was better cal-
culated to form the taste of young men of genius than
Spence's Essay on Pope's Odyssey, Id. Life, xxxvi. — and
that he considered The Memoirs of Lord Bolingbrohe as a
worthless production. — Letter from Birch to Wray, in
Nichols's ///. of Lit. Hist. iv. 534.

3 Letters to Birch, 4300, in the Brit. Mns.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. lxV

quitted his house in Bloomsbury Square for one
in Craven Street ; and after having stayed in the
latter about twelve months, he removed to Bur-
lington Street, where he continued to reside till
his decease.1

The MSS. of Birch2 furnish one more note from
our author's pen :

" Dr. Akekside presents his compliments to Dr. Birch,
and returns many thanks for his kind present. He has
left an unpublish'd letter of Lord Bacon, which he thinks
a valuable one, and which he had leave from Mr. Tyr-
whitt to communicate to Dr. Birch ; and desires that when
he has done with it, he would be so good as to send it to
Burlington Street.
"Nov. 29, 1762/'

To the very learned Tyrwhitt (who has been
previously mentioned among the friends of Aken-
side) Mr. Dyson resigned, during this year, the
clerkship of the House of Commons.3

In December, 1763, Akenside read before the
Royal Society, a paper, which was afterwards pub-
lished in the Philosophical Transactions for the

1 According to the Sheet Catalogues of the Fellows, &-c.
of the College of Physicians (in the Brit. Mas.), his resi-
dence, from 1759 to 1761 inclusive, was in Craven Street,
— from 1762 till his decease, in Burlington Street.

2 Letters to Birch, 4300, in the Brit. Mus.

3 " This gentleman [Tyrwhitt] is well known as the
editor of Chaucer, and [for] a part he took in the contro-
versy in regard to Rowley's poems :" so says Mr. Bucke
{Life of Akenside, 176), who seems not to know that Tyr-
whitt has done more for Greek than English literature.
Since the time of Bentley to the present day, what clas-
sical scholar in this country, with the exception of Porson,
has displayed such acuteness and felicity of emendation
as Tyrwhitt? But his edition of the Canterbury Tales
exhibits a text which by no means satisfies the antiqua-
rian reader.

lxvi LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

same year, — An Account of a Blow upon the Heart,
and of its effects.1

His De Dysenteria Commentarius1 appeared in
1764 ; a production still esteemed by the medical
student for the valuable information it imparts,
and admired by the scholar for its choice and ele-
gant Latinity.

When Warburton, now dignified with the mitre,
put forth a new edition of the first and second
volumes3 of the Divine Legation of Moses, in 1766,

1 Phil. Tram. liii. 353.

2 De Dysenteria Commeniarius, auctore Marco Akenside,
Coll Med. Londin. Socio. Beg. Societ. Sodali, et Magna
BritannicB Regince Medico, 1764, octvo. It consists of
eighty- one pages, and is divided thus :

Cap. I. De Dysenteria historia.

II. De dysentericorum curatione.

III. De causis dysenterice.

IV. De actione ipecacoa?ihce in dysentericos.

There are two English translations of this work, — by
Kyan and Motteux : that of the former is extremely in-
accurate (see Monthly Review, xxxv. 373), that of the
latter is not free from faults.

3 These volumes are advertised as published, in the
London Chronicle, April 3, 1766, — which it is necessary
to mention, because a writer in the Monthly Review seems
to have thought that they appeared subsequently to Aken-
side's Ode to Edwards : " The discerning reader will be at
no loss to account for this attack upon Dr. Akenside, when he
recollects a late short publication of the Doctor's," xxxv.
227. — Mr. Bucke talks of " the obnoxious postscript he
had before appended to his preface" (Life of Akenside,
150), not knowing that Warburton's attack on Akenside
was originally made in the Preface to Remarks on Several
Occasional Reflections, fyc, (see p. xii. of this Memoir). —
The Preface, when altered into a Postscript, opened thus:
" A Poet and a Critic [Lord Kaimes], of equal eminence,
have concurred, though they did not start together, to
censure what was occasionally said in this Dedication (as
if it had been addressed to them) of the use and abuse

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. Ixvii

lie reprinted, as a Postscript to the Dedication to
the Free-thinkers, his severe strictures on our poet's
theory concerning Ridicule, &c, without conde-
scending to notice the arguments which had been
adduced in its defence. Irritated by what he
regarded as a renewal of hostilities, Akenside
displayed less magnanimity than might have been
expected in such an admirer of the ancient sages,
and had recourse to an ingenious method of mor-
tifying his antagonist. He published a lyrical
satire, which he had composed long before this
period, on the appearance of the Bishop's edition
of Pope's Works, and which probably but for this
fresh provocation, would have never seen the light,
— An Ode to the lede Thomas Edwards, Esq., writ-
ten in the year 1751 ;x and a note on the fifth stanza

of Eidicule. The Poet was a follower of Lord Shaftes-
bury's fancies ; the Critic a follower of his own. Both
men of Taste, and equally anxious for the well-doing of
Ridicule."

1 In folio, pr. 6d., published by Dodsley in May, 1766 :
see The St. James's Chronicle for the first of that month,
-into which it is copied, with the following paragraph pre-
fixed to it : " While Peace has spread her wing over the
greatest Nations of Europe, War has sounded his trump
in the regions of Parnassus. We have lately been wit-
nesses to a fierce Conflict between a Right Rev. Prelate
and a Learned and Reverend Professor ; each of whom
have disputed about Job, without one Drachm or Scruple
of his Patience between them. At present another son of
Apollo, in his twofold Capacity of God of Poetry and
Physic, enters the lists ; and tilts, we know not why, with
the Episcopal Militant. In a word, to drop all Metaphor,
we are at a Loss to account why the following Ode, writ-
ten so long ago, is made Public at this particular Period.
We doubt not, however, but its appearance here will be
agreeable to our Readers." — See also two Letters to the
Pr inter of the Public Advertiser (in the App. to Memoirs of
T. Hollis, 722). In the first of them, dated May 6, 1766,

lxviii LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

surprised the reader by the following piece of in-
formation : " During Mr. Pope's war with Theo-
bald, Coneanen, and the rest of their tribe, Mr.
Warburton, the present Lord Bishop of Gloucester,
did with great zeal cultivate their friendship; hav-
ing been introduced, forsooth, at the meetings of
that respectable confederacy : a favour which he
afterwards spoke of in very high terms of compla-
cency and thankfulness. At the same time, in his
intercourse with them he treated Mr. Pope in a
most contemptuous manner, and as a writer with-
out genius. Of the truth of these assertions his
Lordship can have no doubt, if he recollects his
own correspondence with Coneanen ; a part of
which is still in being, and will probably be remem-
bered as long as any of this prelate's writings." A
letter from Warburton to Coneanen,1 dated Janu-
ary 2d, 1726, had fallen into the hands of Aken-
side, who knew that in announcing the existence
of such a document he should cause no slight vexa-
tion to his adversary. Though never published2 by
our poet, it has been printed in a note on Shakes-
peare's Julius Cozsar^ from a copy which he com-
municated to George Steevens, and which was thus
endorsed : " The foregoing Letter was found about

the writer, accounting for the publication of the Ode, says :
" The secret, I suppose, is no more than this : the bishop
has, just now, given a new edition of the first volume of
his Divine Legation ; and has thought fit to reprint the
Censure he had before made on a certain note of this
poet," &c.

1 Matthew Coneanen, celebrated in The Dunciad, ii.
299, where vide note.

2 Misled, perhaps, by Warton (note on Pope's Works,
v. 1 64), Mr. Bucke supposes that Akenside published the
Letter together with the Ode. Life of Akenside, 157.

3 By Malone,— Supplement to Shakespeare, i. 223.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. lxiX

the year 1750 by Dr. Gawin Knight, first librarian
to the British Museum, in fitting up a house which
he had taken in Crane Court, Fleet Street. The
house had, for a long time before, been let in lodg-
ings, and in all probability Concanen had lodged
there. The original letter has been many years in
my possession, and is here most exactly copied,
with its several little peculiarities in grammar,
spelling, and punctuation. April 30th, 1766, M. A."
In this curious Epistle (too long for insertion here)
the object of Warburton is to point out passages
from various writers which Addison had imitated
in his Cato; and having occasion to quote some
lines from Julius Ccesar,1 he illustrates them by an
absurd comment, whidi he afterwards introduced,
with little variation, into his edition of Shalie-
speare. It decidedly proves his intimacy with
Theobald and Concanen ; but contains no men-
tion of Pope, except an observation that he " bor-
rows for want of genius."

The Ode in question was with propriety ad-
dressed to Thomas Edwards, whose well-known
Canons of Criticism had destroyed the reputation
of Warburton in one department of literature.
This amiable and accomplished man, who died in
1757, had long been intimately acquainted with
Akenside, and was, I believe, the " Phaedria," who
had called forth our author's Odes, — To a friend
unsuccessful in love,3 and Affected Indifference. Nor
should it be forgotten that by his Sonnets,41 — some

1 " Between the acting of a dreadful thing," &c.

2 See also Letters between Warburton and Theobald,
of a later date, in which thev call each other " dearest
friend." Nichols's Must, of Lit Hist. ii. 630, 649.

3 See p. xxviii. of this Memoir.

4 See forty-five Sonnets appended to The Canons of

IXX LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

of tliem possessing no ordinary beauty, — Edwards
revived among his countrymen a taste for that spe-
cies of composition which had been neglected since
the days of Milton.

In 1765, Akenside had finished the second book
of the re-modelled Pleasures of Imagination ; and
in September of the following year, Mr. Daniel
Wray writes thus to one of his correspondents :x
— " I was at Mount Ararat sooner than usual, to
attend Lord and Lady Dacre, accompanied by
Akenside, who passed the evening there, and com-
municated the second and part of a third book in
his great work. In the former, and in the same
philosophical way, he is eloquent on the topics of
truth and virtue, vice, and the passions. In the
latter Solon is introduced giving a fable, on the
Origin of Evil. It is introduced by an episode from
Herodotus, of Argarista's marriage, the daugh-
ter of Clisthenes, which is delightfully poetical."
Mr. Wray, — a friend both of Akenside and Ed-
wards,— was a contributor to the well-known work,
The Athenian Letters. He was Fellow of the Royal
Society and of the Society of Antiquaries ; deputy
Teller of the Exchequer ; and one of the Trustees
of the British Museum, on its first establishment.

From the annals of the College of Physicians we
learn that, in 1766, " Dr. Akenside was thanked by
the College for his trouble in preparing Harvey's
Works for the press, and for prefixing a Preface,

Criticism, ed. 1765, several of which had previously ap-
peared in Dodsley's Coll. of Poems, fyc.

1 Nichols's Illust. of Lit. Hist. i. 104. — Mount Ararat
(which Mr. Bucke calls " the seat of Lord and Lady
Dacre," — Life of Akenside, 195) was the name of Mr.
Wrav's house at Richmond.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. lxxi

which was printed with tliem, together with the
Life of Harvey, by Dr. Lawrence."1

On the 6th of June, 1767, he read before the
College two papers, — Observations on Cancers, and
Of the Use of Ipecacoanha in Asthmas; and on the
6th of July a third, — A Method of treating White
Swellings of the Joints. These essays were pub-
lished, next year, in the first volume of the Me-
dical Transactions,

In 1767 appeared a small volume, entitled Lexi-
phanes. a Dialogue, Imitated from Lucian, and suited
to the present times,— a piece of ill-natured drollery,
which, though levelled chiefly at the prose of John-
son, contains also an attack on the poetry of Aken-
side. It was written by an obscure Scotchman,
Archibald Campbell,2 who hoped that its publica-
tion would involve him in a controversy with " the
two Lexiphaneses," from which he would acquire
at least notoriety ; but he was disappointed ; for
neither Johnson nor Akenside deigned to reply.

The following jeu cVesprif is from the pen of Mr.
Daniel Wray, whose intimacy with Akenside has
just been noticed :

1 On the information of Dr. Francis Hawkins, Regis-
trar to the Coll. of Pk.

2 He wTas a purser in the navy, and " as well for the
malignancy of his heart as his terrific countenance, was
called horrible Campbell." Hawkins's Life of Johnson,
347, ed. 1787. In a note on Lexiphanes, Campbell de-
clares that Akenside's " words, and especially his phrases,
are generally so execrable, and his meaning, where any
can be picked out, always so trifling ; in short, he has im-
bibed so much of Plato's nonsense," &c. &c. p. 76 : sec.
ed. 1767. — Campbell published another little volume, —
A Sale of Autliors.

3 Xow first published, from the original in the posses-
sion of J. Dyson, Esq.

lxxii LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

" The Arbitrator was out of town, when the applications
from Ld. Daere and Dr. Akenside were left at his house ;
and, when he found them, he was fully employed in dis-
patching some business, in order to return to Richmond :
Ld. Dacre asked for the Decision only at the leisure of the
Court : and it has been thought proper and decorous to
take some time for judgment.

" Ld. D. has offered no arguments, nor even stated
the point in dispute. Dr. A. has fairly stated it to be
whether Buchanan praised Q. Mary as a woman of
virtue.

" In the second passage of the Pompce, virtus has no-
thing that confines it to moral virtue, but it may include
it : and there occurs a line in the Epithalamium,

Et genus et virtus et forma,

where that idea may also be included in virtus. This
verse is not indeed in Ld. D.'s plea, and so perhaps not
strictly admissible.

" Upon the whole, the classical virtus is not generally
virtue in English : but Buchanan, however classical he
was, might be willing to leave his idea in these compli-
ments, dim and confused ; or perhaps might put these
brave words together without much consideration or pre-
cision, not expecting they would be so nicely canvassed
two centurys after.

" From such imperfect documents, therefore, the court
will not determine so important a cause, so warmly agi-
tated and of such expectation. But hereby declares the
wager to be drawn; each party to sit down with the trouble
they have had in debating and searching for materials and
precedents; and that the respective characters of the
Queen and the writer remain in statu quo, unaffected by
any arguments drawn from these verses j being matters of
another jurisdiction.

" D. W. Arbitrator.
" M. Ararat,

" 26 May, 1770.

" Dr. A. will transmit the above sentence to Ld. D.

" To Dr. Akenside,
" In Burlington Street, London."

The -unfinished third book of the re-modelled
Pleasures of Imagination, and the fragment of the

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. IXXlll

fourtn book, bear the date of this year ; and Aken-
side was looking forward to the period when the
publication of the work was to increase his already
established fame as a poet. His practice as a phy-
sician was now considerable, and promised to be
more extensive. But a putrid fever, with which
he was suddenly seized, put an end to his exist-
ence, after a short illness, on the 23d June, 1770,
in the forty-ninth year of his age. He died at his
residence in Burlington Street,1 and was buried
on the 28th of June, in St. James's Church.

Some Observations on the putrid erysipelas, made
at St. Thomas' s Hospital, which he had read2 before
the College of Physicians, and intended for the
second volume of the Medical Transactions, were
among his papers at the time of his decease, but
were never printed.

Mr. Dyson, who had become possessor of the
books, prints, MSS., and other effects of Akenside,
gave to the world an edition of his Poems, both in
4to. and 8vo. in 1772. The contents of this ele-
gant volume are, — 1. The Pleasures of Imagina-
tion, as originally published. 2. As much of that
Poem, on an enlarged plan, as the author had pre-
pared for the press. " What reason there may
be," says the Advertisement, " to regret that he
did not live to execute the whole of it, will best
appear from the perusal of the plan itself, as stated

1 Mr. Bucke erroneously states that he died in Blooms-
bury Square {Life of Akenside, 216): but see note, page
lxv. of this Memoir ; also the General Evening Post, from
Saturday, June 23c?, to Tuesday, Ju?ie26th, 1770, the Mid-
dlesex Journal, fyc.

2 About the same period that he read the Croonian
Lectures, says Mr. Bucke, without any authority. Life
of Akenside, 197. — See note, page xlv. of this Memoir.

kxiv LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

in the general argument, and of the parts which he
had executed, and which are here published. For
the person to whom he entrusted the disposal of
his papers would have thought himself wanting,
as well to the service of the public as to the fame
of his friend, if he had not produced as much of
the work as appeared to have been prepared for
publication. In this light he considered the intire
first and second books, of which a few copies had
been printed for the use only of the author and
certain friends : also a very considerable part of
the third book, which had been transcribed in order
to its being printed in the same manner : and to
these is added the Introduction to a subsequent
book, which in the manuscript is called the fourth,
and which appears to have been composed at the
time when the author intended to comprize the
whole in Four Books ; but which, as he had after-
wards determined to distribute the poem into more
books, might perhaps more properly be called the
last book."1 3. Odes :— of which nineteen are

1 The late Mr. Pinkerton, in a volume entitled Letters
of Literature, by Robert Heron, 1785, printed, for the first
time, some alterations made by Akenside in The Plea-
sures of Imagination. " They were inserted," he tells us,
" in the margin of the Doctor's copy, which afterwards
passed into the hands of a gentleman, from a friend of
whom, and of my own, a very ingenious young Templar,
I received them. At what time they were written I can-
not pretend to say, much less to reveal the author's rea-
sons for not giving an edition according to them. Most
of them are evidently much for the better, one or two, I
am afraid, for the worse. You will observe that a few of
them have been adopted by the author in his proposed
alteration of the Poem ; as appears from the two books,
and part of the third, of that alteration, published by Mr.
Dyson in his edition of Akenside's Poems, 1772, 4to., but
far the greater part is unpublished ; and that the most

LIFE OF AKENSIDE, lxXV

for the first time printed ; the rest (most of them
now greatly altered) had been previously pub-
lished. 4. The Hymn to the Naiads, corrected,
with the addition of some notes. 5. Inscriptions ;
of which the three last1 had not before appeared.
The Epistle to Curio, in its original state, and se-
veral smaller pieces, which the author had pro-
duced during his early years, are not reprinted in
the volume just described. The only biographical
notice of Akenside which accompanies it is com-
prised in a paragraph of the Advertisement : "The
frigidity of this account," observed the Monthly
Reviewer, " must be disgustful to every reader,
who is endued with the least portion of sensibi-
lity,"2 a censure which has been frequently re-
peated. But there can be no doubt that modesty

valuable, as being evidently written ere the author had
taken up the strange idea that poetry was only perfect
oratory. So that I will venture to say that an edition of
the Pleasures of Imagination, adopting most of these cor-
rections, would be the most perfect ever yet known." —
Letter, iv. p. 21. Pinkerton's taste was not " the most
perfect ever known ;" neither, I think, is that of Mr.
Bucke, who seems to have meditated an edition of the
kind, and who (according to his custom of giving garbled
extracts) quotes the above passage from Pinkerton, omit-
ting the observation that " one or two of the corrections
are for the worse." Life of Akenside, 286.

The Pleasures of Imagination was translated into French
prose by Baron d'Holbach, 1759, and into Italian verse
by Abbate Angelo Mazza, 1764.

1 Namely, The Wood Nymph, " Ye powers unseen,"
&c, and " Me, tho' in life's sequestered vale," &c. — Two
Latin Inscriptions of the poet's " copying," which were
in the possession of Mr. Meyrick, are printed by Mr.
Bucke {Life of Akenside, 81), who calls them "very
beautiful." — They are defective in sense, grammar, and
metre !

2 3Ionthly Review for Dec. 1772,— xlvii. 436.

lxxvi LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

alone prevented Mr. Dyson from undertaking the
office of Akenside's biographer ; for how could he
have discharged it faithfully without being, in some
degree, the herald of his own munificence ? He
was exemplary in all the relations of private life ;
he rose to considerable political eminence ; and,
as the friend and patron of the poet, he has left a
name which can never cease to be remembered
with respect.1

Akenside had a pale and rather sickly com-
plexion, but manly and expressive features. The
formality of his deportment,2 the precise elegance
of his dress, his ample wig in stiff curl, his long-
sword, his hobbling gait, and his artificial heel,
rendered his appearance far from prepossessing,
and somewhat akin to the ludicrous.

His irritability of temper at times betrayed him
into conduct from which a very unfavourable and
unjust idea of his character was conceived by
strangers.3 An early disappointment in love is
said to have occasioned this infirmity. In a pas-
sage of The Pleasiwes of Imagination, where he
touches on the fate of Parthenia,4 he has been sup-
posed to allude to a young lady, who died when
about to. become his wife ; and in several Odes5 he

1 Mr. Dyson died Sept. 16. 1776. "He was at that time
M.P. for Horsham, a member of the Privy Council, and
Cofferer to his Majesty's Household." — Nichols's III. of
Lit. Hist viii. 555.

2 That " Akenside, when he walked in the streets,
looked for all the world like one of his own Alexandrines
set upright," was a saying of Henderson, the actor, — for
which I am indebted to a true poet of our own day, Mr.
Rogers, who heard it repeated many years ago.

3 See the anecdotes at p. xlix, of this Memoir.

4 Bk. ii. 193, first edition.

5 To the 3£use, On Love, To Sir Francis Drake, On
Lyric Poetry, and To the Evening Star.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. lxxvii

mentions, as the object of his passion, Olvmpia,
whom, it appears, he also lost by death. " But he
celebrates other ladies, and speaks of them even
with affection ; Amoret1 and Melissa:"2 such is the
remark of Mr. Bucke,3 who might have added the
names of Eudora,4 Dione,5 and Cordelia,0 and so
made up a list of mistresses only exceeded by The
Chronicle of Cowley ! Though we cannot read in
Akenside's poetry the true history of his loves, we
learn from it that there were moments when he
felt the dreary solitude of celibacy, and sighed for
domestic comforts :

" Though the day have smoothly gone,
Or to lettered leisure known,

Or in social duty spent ;
Yet at eve my lonely breast
Seeks in vain for perfect rest :

Languishes for true content."7

In general society his manners were not agree-
able : he seemed to want gaiety of heart; and was
apt to be dictatorial in conversation. But when
surrounded only by his intimate friends, he would
instruct and delight them by the eloquence of his
reasoning, the felicity of his allusions, and theva*
riety of his knowledge. He had no wit himself,
and took ill the jests of others. He was gifted
with a memory of extraordinary power, and per-

1 Ode viii. Bk. ii. page 225.

2 Pleas, of Imag., enlarged edition, Bk. i. 367.

3 Life of Akenside, 127. In the next page Mr. Bucke
observes that " Akenside's respect for women peeps out
everywhere" !

4 Ode On the Winter-solstice, page 152.

5 Ode On Lyric Poetry, eds. 1745 and 1760 : afterwards
altered to " Olvmpia."

6 Song, page 311.

7 Ode, At Study, page 227.

lxxviii LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

feet readiness in the application of its stores.
With the exception of Ben Jonson, Milton, and
Gray, it would be difficult to name an English poet
whose scholarship was of a higher order than Aken-
side's.

In his life-long friendship with Mr. Dyson the
warmth and constancy of his affections are strik-
ingly displayed. He had a noble independence of
spirit ; and, notwithstanding his alleged political
inconsistency, it should seem that the love of
liberty, for which he was distinguished during the
earlier part of his career, was but little impaired
by the atmosphere of a court. His respect for
Christianity he has testified more than once ;x but
his religious creed, as indicated in his poetry, aj3-
pears to have been nearly that " of his Master,"

Shaftesbury, pure theism. " ' People would

assert,' he was accustomed to say, £ that I imitated
Newton, or I should never allude to the Deity, or
hear him alluded to by others, but I should make
an inclination of my body.' And one day, being
in company with Mr. Meyrick's father at a coffee-
house in the neighbourhood Of Charinor-CrOSS, haV-
ing listened for some time with impatience to the
oratory of a Mr. Warnefield, who was making some
severe remarks, not only on AVarburton's Divine
Legation of Moses, but on the Bible itself, he at
length interrupted him. ' I tell you what, sir,'

1 See his Odes To the Author of Memoirs of the House
of Brandenburgh, and To the Bishop of Winchester. — His
townsman, Sir Gray Cooper, had a paraphrase of the Be-
nedicite, which he " had good reasons for believing was
written by Akenside ;" and he had heard that a Christ-
mas Carol, which used to be sung in the streets of New-
castle, was also composed by our author. See Bucke's Life
of Akenside, 183.

LIFE OF AKENSIDE. lxXlX

said he ; c Warburton is no friend of mine ; — but
I detest hearing a man of learning abused. As to
the Bible— believe or not, just as you please ; but
let it contain as many absurdities, untruths, and
unsound doctrines, as you say it does, there is one
passage, at least, that I am sure, you, with all your
ingenuity, and with all the eloquence you possess,
have not the power to surpass. It is where the
prophet says, — ' The children of men are much
wiser than the children of light.' "1 A hasty asser-
tion of Walker, that " the immortality of the soul
is scarcely once hinted at throughout The Plea-
sures of Imagination" is cited by Johnson,2 who
yet allows, as an excuse for this "great defect,"
that Akenside " has omitted what was not pro-
perly in his plan." But if either of them had
carefully perused the work, could they have over-
looked, among other passages of similar tendency,3
the following lines ?

" Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye,
Through the fair toils and ornaments of earth,
Discerns the nobler life reserved for Heaven" &c.

Bk. i. 489 (enlarged edition).

1 Bucke's Life of Akenside, 180.

2 Life of Akenside. In 1772, talking of The Pleasures
of Imagination, Johnson said to Boswell, " Sir, I could not
read it through." Life of Johnson, ii. 167, ed. 1816.

3 See the first edition, Bk. i. 163, 183, 212, 436 ; Bk.
ii. 359 ; and the enlarged edition, Bk.ii. 145. — Mr. Bucke
was assured by " an octogenarian of great learning " that
he had every reason to think that the following passage
formed part of a letter from Akenside to Dr. Grainger :
" Your friend seems to doubt whether he has a soul or
not ; and yet surely he will not attempt to place himself
on a level with Kepler ; and so far was he from doubting
that he had a soul, he gives one even to the earth itself ."
" In respect to its nature," said he, on another occasion,
" it is past my judgment, whether material or immaterial.

1XXX LIFE OF AKENSIDE.

On a series of papers by Addison, in The Spec-
iator} Akenside founded his great didactic poem.
To Shaftesbury and Hutcheson2 also he is consi-
derably indebted ; and from the writers of Greece
and Rome he has derived a few of his ideas, and
perhaps a portion of his inspiration, — for never
had the genius and wisdom of antiquity a more
ardent admirer or a more unwearied student. In
this celebrated work, if little invention is exhi-
bited, the taste and skill with which the author
has selected and combined his materials are every-
where conspicuous ; if the thoughts are not always
stamped with originality, they have a general lof-
tiness and an occasional sublimity ; if some pas-
sages are not lighted up with poetic fire, they glow

Perhaps it may partake of both natures. Tertullian not
only makes the soul material, but he gives a corporal body
even to God himself; and Job says, ' In my flesh I shall
see God.' The Christian doctrine also implies it, since it
speaks of the resurrection of the body. Certainly, every
thing that exists must have shape ; and if shape, form ;
and if form, substance. But there may be many sub-
stances, and no doubt there are, beyond what we know of'
at present. Simplicius says, there is in nature an active
principle and a passive one : the soul may partake of the
same differences ; the former principle, associating with
light, the latter with colour. Maximus Tyrius makes
even a bolder assertion ; for, he says, that God's oracles
and men's understandings are of near alliance. Hence
the assertion of Proclus, that all our souls are the children
of God. But the fact is, we know little of these things.
It is a great satisfaction, however, that we live in a world
presenting every moment something to exercise our facul-
ties, and that the grand mover of the whole will, no doubt,
make ample allowances for human infirmity." — Life of
Akenside, 181.

1 No, 411, et seq.

2 Shaftesbury's Characteristics. — Hutcheson's Inquiry
into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue,

LIPE OF AKENSIDE. IxXXl

With rhetorical beauty ; while ingenious illustra-
tion and brilliant imagery enliven and adorn
the whole. Akenside has chosen no unimportant
theme, and he treats it with an earnestness and
an enthusiasm which at once command attention.
He pours forth a moral and philosophic strain,
which elevates the mind ; but he dwells so little
on actual existencies and on human interests, that
it rarely moves the heart. His diction is rich and
curious ; sometimes, however, so redundant, as
slightly to obscure the meaning, and sometimes so
remote from common phraseology as to impart an
air of stiffness and turgidity to the lines. His
versification is sweet and flowing ; and, perhaps,
those only who are familiar with the cadences of
Milton will complain of its monotony.

To The "Pleasures of Imagination, as published
in 1744, the preceding observations are intended
to apply. The second Poem, which in the estima-
tion of some critics1 is an improvement on the first,
appears to me comparatively flat and prosaic, not-
withstanding its superior correctness. Had Aken-
side devoted the leisure of his later years to an
entirely new work, it would have formed a more
acceptable bequest to posterity than the remoulded
production of his youth.

That he possessed powers for the graver kind of
satire is evinced by his Epistle to Curio, — a com-
position remarkable for keen but not coarse invec-
tive, for dignity of reproof and intensity of scorn.

Throughout the range of English literature there
is nothing more deeply imbued with the spirit of
the ancient world than our author's Hymn to the

1 Among whom was Hazlitt — Lectures on English
Poets, 236.

IxXXli LIFE OF A KENS IDE.

Naiads. In its solemnity, its pomp of expression,
and its mythologic lore, be has shewn himself a
most successful imitator of Callimachus ; yet is it
far from being the mere echo of a Grecian hymn.1
Nor are his terse and energetic Inscriptions less
worthy of praise.

In some of Akensides Odes—- especially those On
the Winter -solstice and On Lyric Poetry — there are
stanzas of pleasing picturesqueness ; but in the
greater number he appeals chiefly to the under-
standing of the reader,2 and is not solicitous to
heighten the effect of the sentiments by wreathing
them with the flowers of fancy. In those To the
Earl of Huntingdon and To the Country Gentle-
men of England he rises to a gnomic grandeur,
which has seldom been surpassed. His Odes, on
the whole, are deficient in impetuousness, warmth
of colouring, tenderness, and melody.

1 In 1549, Chapman, the fine old dramatist and trans-
lator of Homer, published a tract entitled 2/ad vvktoc,
The Shadow of Night, which consists of two Hymns, To
Night, and To Cynthia, — very learned and mystical effu-
sions, with occasional gleams of poetry. To attempt some
Hymns in the manner of Callimachus was among the lite-
rary projects of Milton: see The Reason of Church Go-
vernment urged against Prelaty, 1641, p. 39.

2 Mason had been told that Akenside " entertained,
some j'ears before his death, a notion that poetry ivas only
true eloquence in metre" — Memoirs of Gray, 261, ed. 1775.

APPENDIX.

^^HE following valuable Letters are here
published by the kind permission of
Mr. Murray, of Albemarle-street.
They first appeared in the new edition

of Johnson's Lives of the Poets, edited for him by

Mr. Peter Cunningham.

Akenside to Mr. David Fordyce.

" To be left at the shop of 3Ir. Gavin Hamilton, Bookseller
in Edinburgh.

" Saturday night, ten o'clock.
" Dear Sir,
*' About ten minutes ago I received your letter. I hope
I may congratulate you on the pleasures you are now en-
joying at Edinburgh among those whose conversation I
envy you, and to whom I envy your conversation. Your
reflections on the face of society in those countries you
have been travelling through, are, I dare say, extremely
just; but I am afraid we have at present no prospect of-,
any valuable change, any general introduction either of
. plenty or independence among the multitude, much less
of that manly and rational spirit of thinking and acting
which ought to be the very end of society, since it can
never be obtained but by society, and is the best and
noblest of those enjoyments which society produces. I
am very sensibly vexed when I hear people asserting that
nine-tenths of the human species must, by the necessity
of civil government, remain ignorant of this divine pos-
session, brutal and without even a comprehension of the
ends of life, which they spend in vain as to their own

lxxxiv AITENDIX.

parts, going out of the world just as they came into it,
without nourishment or growth to their minds, without
advancing one step in the scale of nature. What can I
think of that scene of government which naturally leads
men to a position so shocking and absurd?

u Your view of the Inquiry about the Sciences is per-
fectly congruous to mine. As to your Initiation and Oath,
I like it extremely — only do not you think those terms,
or appellations, the Throne of Honour and the Chamber
of heroic Virtue, will look rather affected ? If we con-
ceive the thing as actually existing, and students at an
academy calling chambers, &c, by such names, I am
afraid we should think the fashion strained almost to
pedantry. The statues of Virtue and Liberty on each side
the rostrum are, I think, very proper ; also the inscrip-
tion and the other bustos, excepting only Machiavel. He
was, no doubt, a man of genius, and has wrote well as far
as his materials allowed him to go ; but being conversant
only with little Italian republics and principalities, where
personal considerations are the principal or only springs
of action, and, consequently, where government is often
subservient to the worst passions, and carried on by the
worst arts — from these causes having no comprehension
of an extensive and virtuous plan of a Constitution, he
has often wrote crudely, generally so monstrous wickedly,
that I think you should not allow him a place among
those heroes, but put Sir Thomas More in his stead.

" I have enclosed the Oath as I would choose it : the al-
terations are marked with figures: — 1. This passage re-
dundant. 2. Systems too recluse and subtle a word. 3.
King has naturally a bad or sordid idea. 4. Honourable
more sober and moral than glorious. 5. So, &c, too vul-
gar and trivial a phrase.

" As for the poem, I am just respiring from a pretty bold
undertaking, not only in poetry, let me tell you, but even
in philosophy — namely, to develope and describe the ge-
neral species and laws of ridicule in the characters of men,
and give an universal idea of it in every other subject.
I have been grievously put to it in the descriptive part.
The general idea of the poem is rather bashfully candid
— excuse the phrase — and ill admits any appearance of
satire, though this Inquiry was absolutely necessary to
the plan as relating to the materials and ground of
corned v.

APPENDIX. JXXXV

" Lo, thus far,
With bold adventure to the Mantuan lyre,
I sing of Nature's charms, and touch, -well pleas'd,
A stricter note. Now haply must my song
Unbend her serious measure, and declare,
In sportive strains, how Folly's awkward arts
Awake impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke,
The lighter province of the comic scene.*'1

" I am filing and re-touching every day, and confess
I long to see the first book fairly and entirely transcribed ;
and if I had it once off my hands, I imagine my thoughts
would be freed from some constraint and anxiety. For
to you I dare pretend to so much philosophy, as that I
shall not be much disturbed about its success ; and I
fancy my mind will be much more at leisure after putting
an end to this task I have so long imposed on myself;
for, though this be but a small part of the design, yet I
have no views of completing the remainder otherwise than
in the most leisurely manner in the world ; for this, if it
be worth aught, must answer all the ends I propose by
it at present; and you know that if it do answer them,
I shall have other matters to mind than versifying. I
expect to finish the transcribing part in a fortnight or
three weeks. I must have a few notes too ; but I blush
to have said so much. I have been for these three weeks
proposing every post to write to Mr. B., but shall cer-
tainly muster up courage to do it next post, for does it
not require (if not courage) resolution, at least, and self-
control? Remember me to all our friends, and believe
me, dear Sir,

" Yours most affectionately,

" M. A."

" P.S. — Write to me soon, and in my next I will tell
you what to do about those letters you are so good as to
mention.

" M. A."

1 This was afterwards introduced, slightly altered, into
" The Pleasures of Imagination," Book iii. ver. 70, &c.
(First edition.)

lxXXvi APPENDIX*

Akenside to Mb. David Fordyce,

" At Aberdeen, N. Britain.

*" Newcastle, 18th June, 1742.
" Dear Sir,

" I should have answered your letter sooner, but that
I was uncertain, till of late, whether to direct for you at
Edinburgh or at Aberdeen. I durst not, however, reply
in the language you wrote in ; for, though I could per-
haps have filled two or three pages with Italian words
ranged in grammatical order, yet, without assuming the
natural air and spirit of the language, you would no more
think I had wrote Italian than you would call that a
musical composition which was only a number of concords
put together without any regard to the rhythm or style
of the whole. This reason was stronger in writing to you,
who have attained so perfectly the wild elegance, the
vagherra, which the Italians are so fond of, both in lan-
guage and painting, and in which, I believe, they exceed
all the moderns. What is good in the French authors is
of a more sober, classical manner, and greater severity of
design. The Spaniards, I imagine, approach much nearer
to the Italian manner. Our English poetry has but little
of it, and that chiefly among the older compositions of
our countrymen — the juvenilia of Milton, and the fairy
scenes of Spenser and Shakespeare. Our nervous and
concise language does not willingly flow into this fanciful
luxuriance ; besides that the genius of our poetry delights
in a vehemence of passion and philosophical sublimity of
sentiments much above its reach.

" Since we parted, I have been chiefly employed in read-
ing the Greek philosophers, especially the Stoics. Upton's
edition of Arrianwas published just as I got hither: it is
in two small quarto volumes, neat enough ; the second
consists principally of the editor's comments and the notes
variorum. He has got a great many remarks of Lord
Shaftesbury, but they are entirely critical, and contain
very ingenious conjectures on the reading of several pas-
sages.

" I have had great pleasure from the writers of this sect ;
but, though I admire the strength and elevation of their

APPENDIX. JXXXYII

moral, yet, in modern life especially, I am afraid it would
lead to something splenetic and unconversable. Besides,
it allows too little to domestic virtue and tenderness,
it dwells too much on the awful and sublime of life ; yet
even its sublimity resembles that of a vast open prospect
in winter, when the sun scarce can shine through the
atmosphere, and looks on the rigour of the season with
a kind of sullen majesty; to the generality of mankind,
a much narrower landscape in the sunshine of a spring
morning would be much more agreeable. I would there-
fore mix the Stoic with the Platonic philosophy ; they
would equally temper and adorn each other ; for, if mere
stoicism be in hazard of growing surly and unsocial, it is
no less certain that Platonic enthusiasm has always run
to extravagance, but where it was kept steady by a severe
judgment; besides that the constant pursuit of beauty
and elegance is apt to fill the mind with high and florid
desires, than which nothing is more dangerous to that
internal freedom which is the basis of virtue. In short,
the case seems much the same here as with the human
sexes, either of which is liable to these very imperfections
when apart, and therefore the perfection of human life is
best found in their union. Were I a painter, and going
to represent these two sects in an emblematic way, I
would draw the genius of the Stoics like a man in his
prime, or rather of a green and active old age, with a
manly sternness and simplicity in his air and habit, seated
on a rock overlooking the sea in a tempest of wind and
lightning, and regarding the noise of the thunder and the
rolling of the waves with a serene defiance. But the Pla-
tonic genius I would represent like another Muse — a vir-
gin of a sweet and lively beauty, with wings to her head,
and a loose robe of a bright azure colour. She should be
seated in a garden, on the brink of a clear and smooth
canal, while the sky were without a cloud, and the sun
shining in the zenith. Our theological lady, conscious
that her eyes could not endure the splendour of his im-
mediate appearance, should be fixed in contemplating his
milder image reflected from the water. But enough of
this. I thank you for }-our account of the manner in
which you dispose of your personages ; I am only afraid
you will scarce find room for the full exercise of Philan-
der's genius and virtue in the station you have assigned
him, for the statutes of a college are too well known and

lXXXVlll APPENDIX.

too strictly observed to leave a probability of much im-
provement under any particular president or master. The
rest, I think, are very well settled. You might find occa-
sion, in the characters of Atticus and Sophron, to give a
little good advice on the ancient and present state of our
political constitution.

" We have little news. I saw yesterday proposals by
an Oxford man to publish an edition of Polybius. I am
quite sick of politics — our present politics I mean. Within
this last month or six weeks I have seen Richardson,
Pickering, and Frank Hume, who all remembered you
with affection ; the two former were for Paris, the last
for Flanders with the regiment to which he is surgeon.
I had a letter last post from Russell ; he has been ill of a
quinsy, but is much better : all other friends are well.
Roebuck is at Leyden, and takes his degree there this
summer, as Allen has already done at St. Andrew's. Ogle
died about a month after we left you.

" I am, with great esteem and affectionate remembrance
of the pleasures of our late conversations,

" Dear Sir,
" Your most faithful and obedient servant,
" Mark Akinside."

" (Direct to be left at Mr. Akinside's,
Surgeon in Newcastle-upon-Tyne)."

Akenside to Mr. Dayid Fordyce,

" At 3Ir. Gavin Hamilton's, Bookseller in Edinburgh.

" Newcastle, 30th July, 1743.
" Dear Sir,
" With respect to Shaftesbury's Test of Truth, I ap-
prehend the matter thus : — Ridicule is never conversant
about bare abstract speculative truth — about the agree-
ment or disagreement of ideas which merely inform the
understanding without affecting the temper and imagi-
nation. It always supposes the perception of some qua-
lity or object either venerable, fair, praiseworthy, or mean,
sordid, and ignoble. The essence of the to ysXoiov con-

APPENDIX. lxXXix

sists in the unnatural combination of these in one ap-
pearance ; and hence you will observe the origin of that
difference which is made between true ridicule and false ;
for I, by a wrong imagination, may apprehend that to be
sordid and ignoble which really is not ; I may also ap-
prehend it inconsistent with the other appearances of reve-
rence or beauty, when they are in fact perfectly coinci-
dent. Take an instance of each. I remember to have
heard you condemn the late comic romance of Joseph
Andrews, for representing Joseph's temperance against
the offers of his lady in a ridiculous light; your sentence
was perfectly j ust, for it is custom, corrupted custom, and
not nature, which teaches us to annex ideas of contempt
to such an abstinence ; for by vicious conversations and
writings the world is deceived, to think it incongruous,
inconsistent with the character and situation of a man,
and therefore ridiculous. An instance of the second kind
may be this : suppose a gentleman nobly drest, a person
of a public character, perhaps in the robes of his office,
walking in a foul street, without any conceited airs or
self-applause from his splendid appearance ; suppose, by
an accident or fall, his garment quite stained and de-
faced,— the opposition between the splendour of one part
of his dress, and the foul appearance of the other, might
perhaps excite the sense of ridicule in a light, superfi-
cial mind ; but, to a man of taste and penetration, the
ridicule would immediately vanish, because, as our gen-
tleman's mind was not fondly prepossessed with any con-
ceit of worth or considerable splendour in his habit, so
neither will the change produced in it give him any
sensation of real disgrace or shame ; consequently, in his
mind there is no incongruity produced by this external
circumstance, therefore nothing ridiculous in the man, in
sentiment, in life : now take away all ideas of this intel-
lectual and feeling species, and then try whether ridicule
can have anyplace in an object; you will mid, I be-
lieve, none at all. But alter the example a little, and
suppose the person so begrimed to have been a fop, whose
whole appearance and gesture showed how much he valued
himself on his finery, there the ridicule will [be] irresis-
tible and just, because the incongruity is real. Xow, as
to the test of our divine Master. This sense of ridicule
was certainly given us for good ends — in a word, for
the same sort of end as the sense of beauty and veracity

h

XC APPENDIX.

and gratitude ; to supply the slow deductions of our rea-
son, and lead us to avoid and depress at first sight some
certain circumstances of the mind which are really pre-
judicial to life, but would otherwise have required a
longer investigation to discover them to be so than we
are usually at leisure for. If, therefore, by any unfair-
ness in an argument, certain circumstances relating to
a point in question be concealed, to apply the ridicule
is to drag out those circumstances, and set them (if they
be opposite) in the fullest light of opposition to those
others which are owned and pleaded for, and thus render
the claim incongruous and ridiculous. Is there any great
mystery or danger in this? and is not Mr. Warburton
—are not all the priests in Christendom — at full liberty
to inquire whether these circumstances which I repre-
sent as opposite and incongruous, be really so ; and whe-
ther they are any way connected with the claim? If
they be not, my procedure is certainly itself ridiculous,
as connecting in my own mind the idea of the to yeXoiov
with what is no way related to it, and very inconsistent
with it.

" I have not yet fixed either the day of my departure
or my route, being detained by some accidents longer
than I expected, only I am pretty sure I shall set for-
ward in the second week of August. If you could be
at leisure to send me two or three letters enclosed in
one to myself, the carrier who sets out every Thursday
from Bristow Port would bring them safe enough, espe-
cially if you tell him I will give him sixpence or a shil-
ling for his trouble. You or Russell might send them
to his lodging by a cadie : you see my impudence, but
you taught me it by your too great complaisance. There
is another carrier, who sets out from the head of the
Cow-gate ; so that if one should not be in the way, you
will find the other. I was half angry in mirth, that
you should so misapprehend me about my difficulty in
writing to Philostratus ; I thought the word self-control
would have given you a different idea of the matter
than a diffidence and terror appearing under so formid-
able an eye. I assure you, Sir, I wrote a very simple
letter, without correction, without brilliancy, without lite-
rature. I wrote to Cleghorn last night, to make him
laugh, to puzzle and astonish him in this combination
of woes. As I make no doubt but he would think me

APPENDIX. XC1

distracted, you may be so good as tell him that you have
received a letter, wrote the next morning, in which,
after passing an easy night, with nine hours' sleep, there
appears some pretty favourable symptoms of a return
to my senses. I want letters from him and ,

and Russell and Blair, immediately ; for I have waited
too long for them. Farewell : I shall write from London,
Commend me to all ours.

" I am, dear Fordyce,

" Your affectionate friend and obedient
servant,

" M. A."

THE

PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

A POEM. IN THREE BOOKS.

'A<7£b8t; \)\v tony avOpoJTrz rag Trapd th 0£8 %dpiraq
aTifidZeiv. Epict. apucl Arrian. II. 23.

THE DESIGN.

j^fHEBE are certain powers in human nature
nfe which seem to hold a middle place between
£"$ the organs of bodily sense and the faculties
of moral perception : they have been called
by a very general name — the Powers of Imagination.
Like the external senses, they relate to matter and
motion, and, at the same time, give the mind ideas
analogous to those of moral approbation and dislike.
As they are the inlets of some of the most exquisite
pleasures we are acquainted with, men of warm and
sensible tempers hare sought means to recall the de-
lightful perceptions they afford, independent of the
objects which originally produced them. This gave
rise to the imitative or designing arts 5 some of which,
like painting and sculpture, directly copy the external
appearances which were admired in nature 5 others, like
music and poetry, bring them back to remembrance
by signs universally established and understood.

But these arts, as they grew more correct and de-
liberate, were naturally led to extend their imitation
beyond the peculiar objects of the imaginative powers ;
especially poetry, which, making use of language as

2 THE DESIGN.

the instrument by which it imitates, is consequently
become an unlimited representative of every species
and mode of being. Yet as their primary intention was
only to express the objects of imagination, and as they
still abound chiefly in ideas of that class, they of course
retain their original character; and all the different
pleasures they excite, are termed, in general, Pleasures
of Imagination.

The design of the following poem is to give a view
of these, in the largest acceptation of the term ; so that
whatever our imagination feels from the agreeable
appearances of nature, and all the various entertain-
ment we meet with, either in poetry, painting, music,
or any of the elegant arts, might be deducible from
one or other of those principles in the constitution of
the human mind, which are here established and ex-
plained.

In executing this general plan, it wTas necessary
first of all to distinguish the imagination from our
other faculties j and then to characterize those original
forms or properties of being, about which it is conver-
sant, and which are by nature adapted to it, as light
is to the eyes, or truth to the understanding. These
properties Mr. Addison had reduced to the three
general classes of greatness, novelty, and beauty ; and
into these we may analyze every object, however com-
plex, which, properly speaking, is delightful to the
imagination. But such an object may also include
many other sources of pleasure ; and its beauty, or
novelty, or grandeur, will make a stronger impression
by reason of this concurrence. Besides this, the
imitative arts, especially poetry, owe much of their
effect to a similar exhibition of properties quite foreign
to the imagination, insomuch that in every line of the
most applauded poems we meet with either ideas
drawn from the external senses, or truths discovered
to the understanding, or illustrations of contrivance
and final causes, or, above all the rest, with circum-
stances proper to awaken and engage the passions. It
was therefore necessary to enumerate and exemplify

THE DESIGN. 3

these different species of pleasure ; especially that from
the passions, which, as it is supreme in the noblest
work of human genius, so, being in some particulars
not a little surprising, gave an opportunity to enliven
the didactic turn of the poem, by introducing a piece
of machinery to account for the appearance.

After these parts of the subject, which hold chiefly of
admiration, or naturally warm and interest the mind, a
pleasure of a very different nature — that from ridicule,
came next to be considered. As this is the foundation
of the comic manner in all the arts, and has been but
very imperfectly treated by moral writers, it was
thought proper to give it a particular illustration, and
to distinguish the general sources from which the ridi-
cule of characters is derived,. Here too a change of
style became necessary ; such a one as might yet be
consistent, if possible, with the general taste of com-
position in the serious parts of the subject : nor is it
an easy task to give any tolerable force to images of
this kind, without running either into the gigantic
expressions of the mock heroic, or the familiar and
poetical raillery of professed satire 5 neither of which
would have been proper here.

The materials of all imitation being thus laid open,
nothing now remained but to illustrate some particular
pleasures which arise either from the relations of dif-
ferent objects one to another, or from the nature of
imitation itself. Of the first kind is that various and
complicated resemblance existing between several parts
of the material and immaterial worlds, which is the
foundation of metaphor and wit. As it seems in a
great measure to depend on the early associations of our
ideas, and as this habit of associating is the source of
many pleasures and pains in life, and on that account
bears a great share in the influence of poetry and the
other arts, it is therefore mentioned here, and its effects
described. Then follows a general account of the pro-
duction of these elegant arts, and the secondary plea-
sure, as it is called, arising from the resemblance of
their imitations to the original appearances of nature.

4 THE DESIGN.

After which, the work concludes with some reflections
on the general conduct of the powers of imagination,
and on their natural and moral usefulness in life.

Concerning the manner or turn of composition which
prevails in this piece, little can be said with propriety
by the author. He had two models ; that ancient and
simple one of the first Grecian poets, as it is refined by
Virgil in the Georgics, and the familiar epistolary way
of Horace. This latter has several advantages. It
admits of a greater variety of style ; it more readily
engages the generality of readers, as partaking more
of the air of conversation ; and, especially with the
assistance of rhyme, leads to a closer and more concise
expression. Add to this the example of the most
perfect of modern poets, who has so happily applied
this manner to the noblest parts of philosophy, that
the public taste is in a great measure formed to it alone.
Yet, after all, the subject before us, tending almost
constantly to admiration and enthusiasm, seemed
rather to demand a more open, pathetic, and figured
style. This too appeared more natural, as the author's
aim was not so much to give formal precepts, or enter
into the way of direct argumentation, as, by exhibiting
the most engaging prospects of nature, to enlarge and
harmonize the imagination, and by that means in-
sensibly dispose the minds of men to a similar taste and
habit of thinking in religion, morals, and civil life.
'Tis on this account that he is so careful to point out
the benevolent intention of the Author of Nature in
every principle of the human constitution here insisted
on 5 and also to unite the moral excellencies of life in the
same point of view with the mere external objects of
good taste 5 thus recommending them in common to
our natural propensity for admiring what is beautiful
and lovely. The same views have also led him to in-
troduce some sentiments which may perhaps be looked
upon as not quite direct to the subject ; but since they
bear an obvious relation to it, the authority of Virgil,
the faultless model of didactic poetry, will best support
him in this particular. For the sentiments themselves
he makes no apology.

THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.
BOOK I.

THE ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed. Difficulty of treating it poeti-
cally. The ideas of the Divine Mind, the origin of
every quality pleasing to the imagination. The na-
tural variety of constitution in the minds of men ; with
its final cause. The idea of a fine imagination, and
the state of the mind in the enjoyment of those
pleasures which it affords. All the primary pleasures
of the imagination result from the perception of great-
ness, or wonderfulness, or beauty, in objects. The
pleasure from greatness, with its final cause. Pleasure
from novelty or wonderfulness, with its final cause.
Pleasure from beauty, with its final cause. The con-
nection of beauty with truth and good, applied to the
conduct of life. Invitation to the study of moral phi-
losophy. The different degrees of beauty in different
species of objects : colour, shape, natural concretes,
vegetables, animals, the mind. The sublime, the fair,
the wonderful, of the mind. The connection of the
imagination and the moral faculty. Conclusion.

JlTHwhat attractive charms this goodly
frame
Of nature touches the consenting
hearts

Of mortal men, and what the pleasing stores
Which beauteous Imitation thence derives

6 THE PLEASURES OF

To deck the poet's, or the painter's toil,

My verse unfolds. Attend, "ye gentle powers

Of musical1 delight ! and, while I sing

Your gifts, your honours, dance around my strain.

Thou, smiling queen of every tuneful breast,

Indulgent Fancy ! from the fruitful banks 10

Of Avon, whence thy rosy fingers cull

Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf

Where Shakespeare lies, be present ; and with thee

Let Fiction come, upon her vagrant wings

Wafting ten thousand colours through the air,

And, by the glances of her magic eye,

Combining each in endless fairy forms,

Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre

Which rules the accents of the moving sphere,

Wilt thou, eternal Harmony ! descend m

And join this festive train ? for with thee comes

The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports,

Majestic Truth ; and where Truth deigns to come,

Her sister Liberty will not be far.

Be present all ye Genii, who conduct

The wandering footsteps of the youthful bard,

New to your springs and shades ; who touch his ear

With finer sounds ; who heighten to his eye

The bloom of Nature, and before him turn

The gayest, happiest attitudes of things. 30

Oft have the laws of each poetic strain
The critic-verse employed ; yet still unsung
Lay this prime subject, though importing most
A poet's name : for fruitless is the attempt,
By dull obedience and the curb of rules,
For creeping toil to climb the hard ascent
Of high Parnassus. Nature's kindling breath
Must fire the chosen genius ; Nature's hand
Must point the path, and imp his eagle-wings,
Exulting o'er the painful steep, to soar 40

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 7

High as the summit ; there to breathe at large
^Ethereal air, with bards and sages old-
Immortal sons of praise. These flattering scenes,
To this neglected labour court my song ;
Yet not unconscious2 what a doubtful task
To paint the finest features of the mind,
And to most subtile and mysterious things
Give colour, strength, and motion. But the love
Of Nature and the Muses bids explore,
Through secret paths erewhile untrod by man.
The fair poetic region, to detect 51

Untasted springs, to drink inspiring draughts,
And shade my temples with unfading flowers,
Culled from the laureate vale's profound recess,
Where never poet gained a wreath before.

From Heaven my strains begin : from Heaven

descends
The flame of genius to the human breast,
And love, and beauty, and poetic joy,
And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun
Sprung from the east, or 'mid the vault of night
The moon suspended her serener lamp ; 61

Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorned the globe,
Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore ;
Then lived the Eternal One : then, deep-retired
In his unfathomed essence, viewed at large
The uncreated images of things ;
The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,
The mountains, woods, and streams, the rolling

globe,
And Wisdom's form celestial. From the first
Of clays, on them his love divine he fixed, to

His admiration ; till in time complete,
What he admired and loved, his vital smile
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame ;

8 THE PLEASURES OF

Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves ;
Hence light and shade alternate ; warmth and cold ;
And clear autumnal skies and vernal showers,
And all the fair variety of things.

But not alike to every mortal eye
Is this great scene unveiled. For, since the claims
Of social life to different labours urge si

The active powers of man, with wise intent,
The hand of Nature on peculiar minds
Imprints a different bias, and to each
Decrees its province in the common toil.
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,
The golden zones of heaven : to some she gave
To weigh the moment of eternal things, —
Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain, 90
And will's quick impulse : others by the hand
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore
"What healing virtue swells the tender veins
Of herbs and flowers ; or what the beams of morn
Draw forth, distilling from the clifted rind
In balmy tears. But some to higher hopes
Were destined ; some within a finer mould
She wrought, and tempered with a purer flame.
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds
The world's harmonious volume, there to read 100
The transcript of Himself. On every part
They trace the bright impressions of his hand :
In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores,
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form
Blooming with rosy smiles, they see portrayed
That uncreated beauty, which delights
The mind supreme. They also feel her charms ;
Enamoured, they partake the eternal joy.

As Memnon's marble harp,3 renowned of old
By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch 110

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 9

Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string
Consenting, sounded through the warbling air
Unbidden strains ; even so did Nature's hand
To certain species of external things,
Attune the finer organs of the mind :
So the glad impulse of congenial powers,
Or of sweet sound, or fair-proportioned form,
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,
Thrills through Imagination's tender frame,
From nerve to nerve ; all naked and alive 120
They catch the spreading rays ; till now the soul
At length discloses every tuneful spring,
To that harmonious movement from without,
Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain
Diffuses its enchantment ; Fancy dreams
Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves,
And vales of bliss ; the intellectual power
Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear,
And smiles : the passions, gently soothed away,
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy 1.30

Alone are waking ; love and joy, serene
As airs that fan the summer. Oh ! attend,
Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch,
Whose candid bosom the refining love
Of Nature warms, Oh ! listen to my song ;
And I will guide thee to her favourite walks,
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her loveliest features to thy view.

Know then, whate'er of Nature's pregnant stores,
Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected forms, no

With love and admiration thus inflame
The powers of Fancy, her delighted sons
To three illustrious orders have referred ;
Three sister graces, whom the painter's hand,
The poet's tongue, confesses — the sublime,
The wonderful, the fair. I see them dawn :

10 THE PLEASURES OF

I see the radiant visions, where they rise ;
More lovely than when Lucifer displays
His beaming forehead through the gates of morn,
To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring. iso

Say, why was man so eminently raised
Amid the vast Creation ?4 why ordained
Through life and death to dart his piercing eye,
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame ?
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth,
In sight of mortal and immortal powers,
As on a boundless theatre, to run
The great career of justice ; to exalt
His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; 359

To shake each partial purpose from his breast ;
And through the mists of passion and of sense,
And through the tossing tide of chance and pain,
To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice
Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent
Of Nature, calls him to his high reward, —
The applauding smile of Heaven ? Else wherefore
In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, [burns
That breathes from day to day sublimer things,
And mocks possession ? wherefore darts the mind
With such resistless ardour to embrace 170

Majestic forms, impatient to be free;
Spurning the gross control of wilful might ;
Proud of the strong contention of her toils ;
Proud to be daring ? Who but rather turns
To Heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view,
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame ?
Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eye
Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey
The Nile or Ganges roll his wasteful tide [shade,
Thro' mountains, plains, thro' empires black with
And continents of sand, will turn his gaze isi
To mark the windings of a scanty rill

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 11

That murmurs at his feet ? The high-born soul
Disdains to rest her heaven- aspiring wing
Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft
Through fields of air ; pursues the flying storm ;
Rides on the vollied lightning through the heavens ;
Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast,
Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars
The blue profound, and, hovering o'er the sun,
Beholds him pouring the redundant stream 19c
Of light ; beholds his unrelenting sway
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve
The fated rounds of Time. Thence, far effused,
She darts her swiftness up the long career
Of devious comets ; through its burning signs,
Exulting, circles the perennial wheel
Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars,
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone, coo
Invests the orient. Now amazed she views
The empyreal waste,5 where happy spirits hold,
Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode ;
And fields of radiance, whose unfading light6
Has travelled the profound six thousand years,
Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things.
Even on the barriers of the world, untired,
She meditates the eternal depth below ;
Till, half recoiling, down the headlong steep
She plunges ; soon o'erwhelmed and swallowed up
In that immense of being. There her hopes 211
Best at the fated goal. For, from the birth
Of mortal man, the Sovereign Maker said
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of renown,
Power's purple robes, nor pleasure's flowery lap,
The soul should find enjoyment ; but from these
Turning disdainful to an equal good,

12 THE PLEASURES OF

Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view,
Till every bound at length should disappear, 220
And infinite perfection close the scene.

Call now to mind what high capacious powers
Lie folded up in man : how far beyond
The praise of mortals may the eternal growth
Of Nature, to perfection half divine,
Expand the blooming soul ? What pity then
Should sloth's unkindly fogs depress to earth
Her tender blossom, choke the streams of life,
And blast her spring ! Far otherwise designed
Almighty Wisdom ; Nature's happy cares 230
The obedient heart far otherwise incline.
Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown
Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active power
To brisker measures : witness the neglect
Of all familiar prospects,7 though beheld
With transport once ; the fond attentive gaze
Of young astonishment ; the sober zeal
Of age, commenting on prodigious things.
For such the bounteous providence of heaven.
In every breast implanting this desire8 240

Of objects new and strange, to urge us on
With unremitted labour to pursue
Those sacred stores that wait the ripening soul,
In Truth's exhaustless bosom. What need words
To paint its power ? For this the daring youth
Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms,
In foreign climes to rove ; the pensive sage,
Heedless of sleep, or midnight's harmful damp,
Hangs o'er the sickly taper ; and, untired,
The virgin follows, with enchanted step, 2^0

The mazes of some wild and wondrous tale,
From morn to eve ; unmindful of her form,
Unmindful of the happy dress that stole
The wishes of the vouth, when every maid

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 13

With envy pined. Hence, finally, by night
The village-matron, round the blazing hearth,
Suspends the infant audience with her tales,
Breathing astonishment ! of witching rhymes
And evil spirits ; of the- death-bed call
To him who robbed the widow, and devoured 260
The orphan's portion ; of unquiet souls
Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life concealed ; of shapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave
The torch of hell around the murderer's bed
At every solemn pause the crowd recoil,
Gazing each other speechless, and congealed
With shivering sighs : till, eager for the event,
Around the beldame all arrect they hang,
Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quelled.
But lo ! disclosed in all her smiling pomp, 271
Where Beauty, onward moving, claims the verse
Her charms inspire, the freely- flowing verse
In thy immortal praise, O Form Divine !
Smooths her mellifluent stream. Thee, Beauty,
The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray [thee,
The mossy roofs adore : thou, better sun !
For ever beamest on the enchanted heart
Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight
Poetic. Brightest progeny of Heaven ! cso

How shall I trace thy features ? where select
The roseate hues to emulate thy bloom ?
Haste then, my song, thro' Nature's wide expanse,
Haste then, and gather all her comeliest wealth ;
Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,
Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air,
To deck thy lovely labour. Wilt thou fly
With laughing Autumn to the Atlantic isles,9
And range with him the Hesperian field, and see
Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove, 290

14 THE PLEASURES OF

The branches shoot with gold ; where'er his step
Marks the glad soil, the tender clusters glow
With purple ripeness, and invest each hill
As with the blushes of an evening sky ?
Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume
Where, gliding thro'his daughter's honored shades,10
The smooth Peneus from his glassy flood
Reflects purpureal Tempe's pleasant scene ?
Fair Tempe ! haunt beloved of sylvan Powers,
Of Nymphs and Fauns ; where in the golden age
They played in secret on the shady brink soi

With ancient Pan : while round their choral steps
Young Hours and genial Gales with constant hand
Showered blossoms, odours, showered ambrosial

dews,
And spring's Elysian bloom. Her flowery store
To thee nor Tempe shall refuse ; nor watch
Of winged Hydra guard Hesperian fruits
From thy free spoil. Oh ! bear then, unreproved,
Thy smiling treasures to the green recess
Where young Dione stays. With sweetest airs
Entice her forth to lend her angel form 311

For Beauty's honoured image. Hither turn
Thy graceful footsteps ; hither, gentle maid,
Incline thy polished forehead : let thy eyes
Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn ;
And may the fanning breezes waft aside
Thy radiant locks : disclosing, as it bends
With airy softness from the marble neck,
The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lip,
Where winning smiles, and pleasure sweet as love,
With sanctity and wisdom, tempering, blend 321
Their soft allurement. Then the pleasing force
Of Nature and her kind parental care,
Worthier, I'd sing : then all the enamoured youth,
With each admiring virgin, to my lyre

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 15

Should throng attentive, while I point on high
Where Beauty's living image, like the morn
That wakes in Zephyr's arms the blushing May,
Moves onward ; or as Venus, when she stood
Effulgent on the pearly ear, and smiled, 330

Fresh from the deep and conseious of her form,
To see the Tritons tune- their vocal shells,
And each cerulean sister of the flood
With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves,
To seek the Idalian bower. Ye smiling band
Of youths and virgins, who through all the maze
Of young desire with rival steps pursue
This charm of Beauty ; if the pleasing toil
Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn
Your favourable ear, and trust my words. 310

I do not mean to wake the gloomy form
Of Superstition dressed in Wisdom's garb
To damp your tender hopes ; I do not mean
To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,
Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth
To fright you from your joys ; my cheerful song
With better omens calls you to the field,
Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase,
And warm as you. Then tell me, for you know,
Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where health
And active use are strangers ? Is her charm 351
Confessed in aught, whose most peculiar ends
Are lame and fruitless ? Or did Nature mean
This awful stamp, the herald of a lie,
To hide the shame of discord and disease,
And catch with fair hypocrisy the heart
Of idle faith ? Oh no ! with better cares
The indulgent mother, conscious how infirm
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,
By this illustrious image, in each kind 360

Still most illustrious where the object holds

16 THE PLEASURES OF

Its native powers most perfect, she by this

Illumes the headlong impulse of desire,

And sanctifies his choice. The generous glebe

Whose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear tract

Of streams delicious to the thirsty soul,

The bloom of nectared fruitage ripe to sense,

And every charm of animated things,

Are only pledges of a state sincere,

The integrity and order of their frame, 370

When all is well within, and every end

Accomplished. Thus was Beauty sent from heaven,

The lovely ministress of Truth and Good

In this dark world ; for Truth and Good are one,11

And Beauty dwells in them and they in her,

With like participation. Wherefore then,

O sons of earth ! would you dissolve the tie ?

Oh ! wherefore, with a rash, imperfect aim,

Seek you those flowery joys with which the hand

Of lavish Fancy paints each flattering scene 330

Where Beauty seems to dwell, nor once inquire

Where is the sanction of eternal Truth,

Or where the seal of undeceitful good,

To save your search from folly ? Wanting these,

Lo ! Beauty withers in your void embrace,

And with the glittering of an idiot's toy

Did Fancy mock your vows. Nor let the gleam

Of youthful hope that shines upon your hearts,

Be chilled or clouded at this awful task, —

To learn the lore of undeceitful good 390

And Truth eternal. Though the poisonous charms

Of baleful Superstition guide the feet

Of servile numbers, through a dreary way

To their abode, through deserts, thorns, and mire ;

And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn

To muse, at last, amid the ghostly gloom

Of graves, and hoary vaults, and cloistered cells;

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 17

To walk with spectres through the midnight shade,
And to the screaming owl's accursed song
Attune the dreadful workings of his heart ; 4uo
Yet be not you dismayed. A gentler star
Your lovely search illumines. From the grove
Where Wisdom talked with her Athenian sons,
Could my ambitious hand entwine a wreath
Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,
Then should my powerful voice at once dispel
Those monkish horrors : then, in light divine,
Disclose the Elysian prospect, where the steps
Of those whom Nature charms, through blooming
walks, 409

Through fragrant mountains, and poetic streams,
Amid the train of sages, heroes, bards,
Led by their winged Genius and the choir
Of laurelled science and harmonious art,
Proceed exulting to the eternal shrine,
Where Truth, enthroned with her celestial twins,
The undivided partners of her sway,
With good and beauty reigns. Oh ! let not us,
Lulled by luxurious Pleasure's languid strain,
Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage ;
Oh ! let not us a moment pause to join 420

That godlike band. And, if the gracious Power
Who first awakened my untutored song
Will to my invocation breathe anew
The tuneful spirit, then, through all our paths,
Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre
Be wanting ; whether, on the rosy mead
When summer smiles, to warn the melting heart
Of luxury's allurement ; whether, firm
Against the torrent and the stubborn hill,
To urge bold Virtue's unremitted nerve, 430

And wake the strong divinity of soul
That conquers chance and fate ; or whether, struck
c

18 THE PLEASURES OF

For sounds of triumph, to proclaim her toils
Upon the lofty summit, round her brow-
To twine the wreath of incorruptive praise,
To trace her hallowed light through future worlds,
And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man.
Thus with a faithful aim have we presumed,
Adventurous, to delineate Nature's form ;
Whether in vast, majestic pomp arrayed, 4 jo

Or drest for pleasing wonder, or serene
In Beauty's rosy smile. It now remains,
Through various being's fair proportioned scale,
To trace the rising lustre of her charms,
From their first twilight, shining forth at length
To full meridian splendour. Of degree
The least and lowliest, in the effusive warmth
Of colours mingling with a random blaze,
Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the line
And variation of determined shape, 450

Where Truth's eternal measures mark the bound
Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent
Uuites this varied symmetry of parts
With colour's bland allurement ; as the pearl
Shines in the concave of its azure bed,
And painted shells indent their speckled wreath.
Then, more attractive, rise the blooming forms,
Through which the breath of Nature has infused
Her genial power to draw with pregnant veins
Nutritious moisture from the bounteous earth,
In fruit and seed prolific : thus the flowers 461
Their purple honours, with the Spring, resume ;
And such the stately tree which Autumn bends
With blushing treasures. But more lovely still
Is Nature's charm, where, to the full consent
Of complicated members, to the bloom
Of colour, and the vital change of growth,
Life's holy flame and piercing sense are given,

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 19

And active motion speaks the tempered soul :

So moves the bird of Juno ; so the steed, 470

With rival ardour, beats the dusty plain,

And faithful dogs, with eager airs of joy,

Salute their fellows. Thus doth Beauty dwell

There most conspicuous, even in outward shape,

Where dawns the high expression of a mind ;

By steps conducting our enraptured search

To that eternal origin, whose power,

Through all the unbounded symmetry of things,

Like rays effulging from the parent sun,

This endless mixture of her charms diffused, 480

Mind, mind alone, (bear witness earth and heaven !)

The living fountains in itself contains

Of beauteous and sublime : here, hand in hand,

Sit paramount the Graces ; here, enthroned,

Celestial Venus, with divinest airs,

Invites the soul to never fading joy.

Look then abroad through nature, to the range

Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres,

Wheeling unshaken through the void immense ;

And speak, O man ! does this capacious scene 490

With half that kindling majesty dilate

Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose

Refulgent from the stroke of Cgesar's fate,12

Amid the crowd of patriots ; and, his arm

Aloft extending, like eternal Jove

"When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud

On Tally's name, and shook his crimson steel,

And bade the father of his country, hail !

For lo ! the tyrant prostrate on the dust,

And Rome again is free ! Is aught so fair 500

In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring,

In the bright eye of Hesper, or the morn ;

In Nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair

As virtuous friendship ? as the candid blush

20 THE PLEASURES OF

Of him who strives with fortune to be just ?

The graceful tear that streams for others' woes ?

Or the mild majesty of private life,

Where Peace with ever blooming olive crowns

The gate ; where Honour's liberal hands effuse

Unenvied treasures, and the snowy wings 510

Of Innocence and Love protect the scene ?

Once more search, undismayed, the dark profound

Where Nature works in secret ; view the beds

Of mineral treasure and the eternal vault

That bounds the hoary ocean ; trace the forms

Of atoms moving with incessant change

Their elemental round ; behold the seeds

Of being and the energy of life

Kindling the mass with ever active flame :

Then to the secrets of the working mind 520

Attentive turn ; from dim oblivion call

Her fleet, ideal band, and bid them go,

Break through time's barrier, and o'ertake the hour

That saw the heavens created : then declare

If aught were found in those external scenes

To move thy wonder now. For what are all

The forms which brute, unconscious matter wears —

Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts ?

Not reaching to the heart, soon feeble grows

The superficial impulse ; dull their charms, 53u

And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye.

Not so the moral species, nor the powers

Of genius and design ; the ambitious mind

There sees herself: by these congenial forms

Touched and awakened, with intenser act

She bends each nerve, and meditates, well pleased,

Her features in the mirror. For of all

The inhabitants of earth, to man alone

Creative Wisdom gave to lift his eye

To Truth's eternal measures ; thence to frame

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 21

The sacred laws of action and of will, 5*1

Discerning justice from unequal deeds,

And temperance from folly. But, beyond

This energy of Truth, whose dictates bind

Assenting reason, the benignant Sire,

To deck the honoured paths of just and good,

Has added bright Imagination's rays:

Where Virtue, rising from the awful depth

Of Truth's mysterious bosom, doth forsake

The unadorned condition of her birth ; 13 550

And, dressed by Fancy in ten thousand hues,

Assumes a various feature, to attract,

With charms responsive to each gazer's eye,

The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk,

The ingenuous youth, whom solitude inspires

With purest wishes, from the pensive shade

Beholds her moving, like a virgin muse

That wakes her lyre to some indulgent theme

Of harmony and wonder : while, among

The herd of servile minds, her strenuous form, 060

Indignant, flashes on the patriot's eye,

And, through the rolls of memory, appeals

To ancient honour, or in act serene,

Yet watchful, raises the majestic sword

Of public Power, from dark Ambition's reach,

To guard the sacred volume of the laws.

Genius of ancient Greece ! whose faithful steps,
Well pleased, I follow through the sacred paths
Of Nature and of Science ; nurse divine
Of all heroic deeds and fair desires ! 570

Oh ! let the breath of thy extended praise
Inspire my kindling bosom to the height
Of this untempted theme. ISTor be my thoughts
Presumptuous counted, if, amid the calm
That soothes this vernal evening into smiles,
I steal, impatient, from the sordid haunts

22 THE PLEASURES OF

Of Strife and low Ambition, to attend

Thy sacred presence in the sylvan shade,

By their malignant footsteps ne'er profaned.

Descend, propitious to my favoured eye ; 580

Such in thy mien, thy warm, exalted air,

As when the Persian tyrant, foiled and stung

"With shame and desperation, gnashed his teeth

To see thee rend the pageants of his throne ;

And at the lightning of thy lifted spear

Crouched like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils,

Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs,

Thy smiling band of art, thy godlike sires

Of civil wisdom, thy heroic youth 589

Warm from the schools of glory. Guide my way

Through fair Lyceum's u walk, the green retreats

Of Academus,15 and the thymy vale,

"Where, oft enchanted with Socratic sounds,

Ilissus16 pure devolved his tuneful stream

In gentler murmurs. From the blooming store

Of these auspicious fields, may I, unblamed,

Transplant some living blossoms to adorn

My native clime ; while, far above the flight

Of Fancy's plume aspiring, I unlock

The springs of ancient wisdom : while I join 6oo

Thy name, thrice honoured, with the immortal

praise
Of Nature ; while, to my compatriot youth,
I point the high example of thy sons,
And tune to Attic themes the British lyre.

IMAGINATION. BOOK II.

23

BOOK II.

THE ARGUMENT.

The separation of the works of Imagination from Phi-
losophy, the cause of their abuse among the moderns.
Prospect of their re-union under the influence of public
Liberty. Enumeration of accidental pleasures, which
increase the effect of objects delightful to the Imagina-
tion. The pleasures of sense. Particular circum-
stances of the mind. Discovery of truth. Perception
of contrivance and design. Emotion of the passion?.
All the natural passions partake of a pleasing sensa-
tion i with the final cause of this constitution illustrated
by an allegorical vision, and exemplified in sorrow,
pity, terror, and indignation.

;?HEiSr shall the laurel and the vocal

string
Resume their honours ? "When shall

we behold

The tuneful tongue, the Promethean hand,
Aspire to ancient praise ? Alas ! how faint,
How slow, the dawn of Beauty and of Truth,
Breaks the reluctant shades of gothic night
Which yet involve the nations ! Long they groaned
Beneath the furies of rapacious force ;
Oft as the gloomy north, with, iron swarms
Tempestuous, pouring from her frozen caves, iq
Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the works
Of Liberty and Wisdom down the gulph
Of all devouring night. As, long immured
In noontide darkness by the glimmering lamp.

24 THE PLEASURES OF

Each Muse and each fair Science pined away

The sordid hours : while foul, barbarian hands

Their mysteries profaned, unstrung the lyre,

And chained the soaring pinion down to earth.

At last the Muses rose,1 and spurned their bonds,

And, wildly warbling, scattered, as they flew, 20

Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's bower s2

To Arno's3 myrtle border and the shore

Of soft Parthenope.4 But still the rage

Of dire ambition and gigantic power,0

From public aims, and from the busy walk

Of civil commerce, drove the bolder train

Of penetrating Science to the cells

Where studious Ease consumes the silent hour

In shadowy searches and unfruitful care.

Thus from their guardians torn, the tender arts

Of mimic fancy and harmonious joy,G 31

To priestly domination and the lust

Of lawless courts, their amiable toil

For three inglorious ages have resigned,

In vain reluctant ; and Torquato's tongue

Was tuned for slavish pseans at the throne

Of tinsel pomp ; and Raphael's magic hand

Effused its fair creation to enchant

The fond adoring herd in Latian fanes

To blind belief; while on their prostrate necks

The sable tyrant plants his heel secure. 41

But now, behold ! the radiant era dawns,

When freedom's ample fabric, fixed at length

For endless years on Albion's happy shore

In full proportion, once more shall extend,

To all the kindred powers of social bliss,

A common mansion, a parental roof.

There shall the Virtues, there shall Wisdom's train,

Their long-lost friends rejoining, as of old,

Embrace the smiling family of Arts, — so

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 25

The Muses and the Graces. Then no more

Shall Vice, distracting their delicious gifts

To aims abhorred, with high distaste and scorn

Turn from their charms the philosophic eye,

The patriot bosom ; then no more the paths

Of public care or intellectual toil,

Alone by footsteps haughty and severe,

In gloomy state be trod : the harmonious Muse

And her persuasive sisters then shall plant

Their sheltering laurels o'er the bleak ascent, 60

And scatter flowers along the rugged way.

Armed with the lyre, already have we dared

To pierce divine Philosophy's retreats,

And teach the Muse her lore ; already strove

Their long divided honours to unite,

While, tempering this deep argument, we sang

Of Truth and Beauty. Now the same glad task

Impends ; now, urging our ambitious toil,

We hasten to recount the various springs

Of adventitious pleasure, which adjoin 70

Their grateful influence to the prime effect

Of objects grand or beauteous, and enlarge

The complicated joy. The sweets of sense ;

Do they not oft with kind accession flow,

To raise harmonious Fancy's native charm ?

So while we taste the fragrance of the rose,

Glows not her blush the fairer ? While we view,

Amid the noontide walk, a limpid rill

Gush through the trickling herbage, to the thirst

Of summer, yielding the delicious draught 83

Of cool refreshment ; o'er the mossy brink

Shines not the surface clearer, and the waves

With sweeter music murmur as they flow ?

ISTor this alone ; the various lot of life
Oft from external circumstance assumes
A moment's disposition to rejoice

26 THE PLEASURES OF

In those delights which at a different hour
Would pass unheeded. Fair the face of Spring,
When rural songs and odours wake the morn
To every eye ; but how much more to his 90

Bound whom the bed of sickness long diffused
Its melancholy gloom ! how doubly fair,
When first with fresh-born vigour he inhales
The balmy breeze, and feels the blessed sun
Warm at his bosom, from the springs of life
Chasing oppressive damps and languid pain !

Or shall I mention, where celestial Truth
Her awful light discloses, to bestow
A more majestic pomp on Beauty's frame ? 99

For man loves knowledge, and the beams of Truth
More welcome touch his understanding's eye,
Than all the blandishments of sound his ear,
Than all of taste his tongue. "Nor ever yet
The melting rainbow's vernal-tinctured hues
To me have shown so pleasing, as when first
The hand of Science pointed out the path
In which the sunbeams, gleaming from the west,
Fall on the watery cloud, whose darksome veil
Involves the orient ; and that trickling shower,
Biercing through every crystalline convex 110
Of clustering dewdrops to their flight opposed
Becoil at length where, concave all behind,
The internal surface of each glassy orb
Bepels their forward passage into air ;
That thence direct. they seek the radiant goal
From which their course began ; and, as they strike
In different lines the gazer's obvious eye,
Assume a different lustre, through the brede
Of colours changing from the splendid rose
To the pale violet's dejected hue. i£o

Or shall we touch that kind access of joy,
That springs to each fair object, while we trace,

IMAGINATION. BOOK II, 2/

Through all its fabric, Wisdom's artful aim
Disposing every part, and gaining still
By means proportioned her benignant end ?
Speak ye the pure delight, whose favoured steps
The lamp of Science through the jealous maze
Of Xature guides, when haply you reveal
Her secret honours : whether in the sky, 129

The beauteous laws of light, the central powers
That wheel the pensile planets round the year ;
Whether in wonders of the rolling deep,
Or smiling fruits of pleasure-pregnant earth,
Or fine -adjusted springs of life and sense,
Ye scan the counsels of their Author's hand.

What, when, to raise the meditated scene,
The flame of passion, through the struggling soul
Deep -kindled, shows across that sudden blaze
The object of its rapture, vast of size,
With fiercer colours, and a night of shade ? J 40
What ? like a storm from their capacious bed
The sounding seas o'erwhelming, when the might
Of these eruptions, working from the depth
Of man's strong apprehension, shakes his frame
Even to the base ; from every naked sense
Of pain or pleasure dissipating all
Opinion's feeble coverings, and the veil
Spun from the cobweb fashion of the times
To hide the feeling heart ? Then Mature speaks
Her genuine language, and the words of men, 150
Big with the very motion of their souls,
Declare with what accumulated force
The impetuous nerve of passion urges on
The native weight and energy of things.

Yet more : her honours where nor Beauty claims,
~Nov shows of good the thirsty sense allure,
From passion's power alone our nature holds
Essential pleasure.7 Passion's fierce illapse

28 THE PLEASURES OF

Houses the mind's whole fabric ; with supplies

Of daily impulse keeps the elastic powers i6u

Intensely poised, and polishes anew

By that collision all the fine machine :

Else rust would rise, and foulness, by degrees

Incumbering, choke at last what heaven designed

For ceaseless motion and a round of toil.

But say, does every passion men endure
Thus minister delight ? That name indeed
Becomes the rosy breath of love ; becomes
The radiant smiles of joy, the applauding hand
Of admiration ; but the bitter shower 170

That sorrow sheds upon a brother's grave ;
But the dumb palsy of nocturnal fear,
Or those consuming fires that gnaw the heart
Of panting indignation, find we there
To move delight ? Then listen, while my tongue
The unaltered will of Heaven with faithful awe
Reveals ; what old Harmodius wont to teach
My early age, — Harmodius, who had weighed
Within his learned mind whate'er the schools
Of Wisdom, or thy lonely- whispering voice, iso
O faithful Nature ! dictate of the laws
Which govern and support this mighty frame
Of universal being. Oft the hours
From morn to eve have stolen unmarked away,
While mute attention hung upon his lips,
As thus the sage his awful tale began :

" 'Twas in the windings of an ancient wood,
When spotless youth with solitude resigns
To sweet philosophy the studious day,
What time pale Autumn shades the silent eve,
Musing I roved. Of good and evil much, 191

And much of mortal man my thought revolved ;
When, starting full on fancy's gushing eye,
The mournful image of Parthenia's fate ;

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 29

That hour, O long beloved and long deplored !
When blooming youth, nor gentlest wisdom's arts,
Xor Hymen's honours gathered for thy brow,
Nor all thy lover's, all thy father's tears
Availed to snatch thee from the cruel grave ;
Thy agonizing looks, thy last farewell 200

Struck to the inmost feeling of my soul
As with the hand of Death. At once the shade
More horrid nodded o'er me, and the winds
With hoarser murmuring shook the branches. Dark
As midnight storms, the scene of human things
Appeared before me ; deserts, burning sands,
Where the parched adder dies ; the frozen south,
And desolation blasting all the west
With rapine and with murder : tyrant power
Here sits enthroned with blood ; the baleful charms
Of superstition there infect the skies, 211

And turn the sun to horror. Gracious Heaven !
What is the life of man ? Or cannot these,
Xot these portents thy awful will suffice ?
That, propagated thus beyond their scope,
They rise to act their cruelties anew
In my afflicted bosom, thus decreed
The universal sensitive of pain,
The wretched heir of evils not its own !"

Thus I, impatient : when, at once effused, ceo
A flashing torrent of celestial day
Burst through the shadowy void. With slow

descent
A purple cloud came floating through the sky,
And, poised at length within the circling trees,
Hung obvious to my view ; till, opening wide
Its lucid orb, a more than human form,
Emerging, leaned majestic o'er my head,
And instant thunder shook the conscious grove.
Then melted into air the liquid cloud.

80 THE PLEASURES OF

And all the shining vision stood revealed. gso

A wreath of palm his ample forehead bound,
And o'er his shoulder, mantling to his knee,
Flowed the transparent robe, around his waist
Collected with a radiant zone of gold
iEthereal : there, in mystic signs engraved,
I read his office high and sacred name ;
Genius of human kind ! Appalled, I gazed
The godlike presence ; for, athwart his brow,
Displeasure, tempered with a mild concern,
Looked down reluctant on me, and his words 240
Like distant thunders broke the murmuring air.

" Yain are thy thoughts, O child of mortal birth !
And impotent thy tongue. Is thy short span
Capacious of this universal frame ?
Thy wisdom all sufficient ? Thou, alas !
Dost thou aspire to judge between the Lord
Of Nature and his works ? to lift thy voice
Against the sovereign order he decreed,
All good and lovely ? to blaspheme the bands
Of tenderness innate and social love, 250

Holiest of things ! by which the general orb
Of being, as by adamantine links,
Was drawn to perfect union and sustained
From everlasting ? Hast thou felt the pangs
Of softening sorrow, of indignant zeal
So grievous to the soul, as thence to wish
The ties of Nature broken from thy frame ;
That so thy selfish, unrelenting heart
Might cease to mourn its lot, no longer then
The wretched heir of evils not its own ? 260

O fair benevolence of generous minds !
O man by Nature formed for all mankind ! '

He spoke ; abashed and silent I remained,
As conscious of my lips' offence, and awed
Before his presence, though my secret soul

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 31

Disdained the imputation. On the ground
I fixed my eyes, till from his airy couch
He stooped sublime, and touching with his hand
My dazzling forehead, " Raise thy sight," he cried,
c; And let thy sense convince thy erring tongue."
I looked, and lo ! the former scene was changed ;
For verdant alleys and surrounding trees,
A solitary prospect, wide and wild,
Bushed on my senses. 'Twas a horrid pile
Of hills with many a shaggy forest mixed,
With many a sable cliff and glittering stream.
Aloft, recumbent o'er the hanging ridge,
The brown woods waved ; while ever-trickling

springs
Washed from the naked roots of oak and pine
The crumbling soil ; and still at every fall 2so
Down the steep windings of the channelled rock,
Remurmuring, rushed the congregated floods
With hoarser inundation ; till at last
They reached a grassy plain, which from the skirts
Of that high desert spread her verdant lap,
And drank the gushing moisture, where confined
In one smooth current, o'er the lilied vale
Clearer than glass it flowed. Autumnal spoils
Luxuriant, spreading to the rays of morn,
Blushed o'er the cliffs, whose half-encircling mound,
As in a sylvan theatre, enclosed 291

That flowery level. On the river's brink
I spied a fair pavilion, which diffused
Its floating umbrage 'mid the silver shade
Of osiers. jSTow the western sun revealed,
Between two parting cliffs, his golden orb,
And poured across the shadow of the hills,
On rocks and floods, a yellow stream of light
That cheered the solemn scene. My listening powers
Were awed, and every thought in silence hung,

32 THE PLEASURES OF

And wondering expectation. Then the voice 301
Of that celestial power, the mystic show
Declaring, thus my deep attention called :
" Inhabitant of earth, to whom is given
The gracious ways of Providence to learn,
Receive my sayings with a steadfast ear8 —
Know then the Sovereign Spirit of the world,
Though, self-collected from eternal time,
Within his own deep essence he beheld
The circling bounds of happiness unite ; 3 10

Yet, by immense benignity, inclined
To spread around him that primeval joy
Which filled himself, he raised his plastic arm,
And sounded through the hollow depth of space
The strong, creative mandate. Straight arose
These heavenly orbs, the glad abodes of life,
Effusive kindled by his breath divine
Through endless forms of being. Each inhaled
From him its portion of the vital flame,
In measure such, that, from the wide complex 320
Of coexistent orders, one might rise, —
One order, all-involving and entire.9
He too, beholding in the sacred light
Of his essential reason all the shapes
Of swift contingence, all successive ties
Of action propagated through the sum
Of possible existence, he at once,
Down the long series of eventful time,
So fixed the dates of being, so disposul
To every living soul of every kind 3.30

The field of motion and the hour of rest,
That all conspired to his supreme design, —
To universal good : with full accord
Answering the mighty model he had chose —
The best and fairest of unnumbered worlds10
That lay from everlasting in the store

IMAGINATION. BOOK II 33

Of his divine conceptions. Nor content,

By one exertion of creating power,

His goodness to reveal ; through every age,

Through every moment up the tract of time, 3io

His parent hand, with ever new increase

Of happiness and virtue, has adorned

The vast harmonious frame : his parent hand,

From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore

To men, to angels, to celestial minds

For ever leads the generations on

To higher scenes of being ; while, supplied

From day to day with his enlivening breath,

Inferior orders in succession rise

To fill the void below. As flame ascends, 3.50

As bodies to their proper centre move,11

As the poised ocean to the attracting moon

Obedient swells, and every headlong stream

Devolves its winding waters to the main ;

So all things which have life aspire to God, —

The sun of being, boundless, unimpaired,

Centre of souls ! Nor does the faithful voice

Of Nature cease to prompt their eager steps

Aright ; nor is the care of Heaven withheld

From granting to the task proportioned aid ; 360

That, in their stations, all may persevere

To climb the ascent of being, and approach

For ever nearer to the life divine.

" That rocky pile thou seest, that verdant lawn,
Fresh-watered from the mountains. Let the scene
Paint in thy fancy the primeval seat
Of man, and where the Will Supreme ordained
His mansion, that pavilion fair-diffused
Along the shady brink ; in this recess
To wear the appointed season of his youth ; 370
Till riper hours should open to his toil
The high communion of superior minds,

D

34 THE PLEASURES OF

Of consecrated heroes, and of gods.

Nor did the Sire Omnipotent forget

His tender bloom to cherish ; nor withheld

Celestial footsteps from his green abode.

Oft from the radiant honours of his throne,

He sent whom most he loved, the sovereign fair,

The effluence of his glory, whom he placed

Before his eyes for ever to behold ; sbo

The goddess from whose inspiration flows

The toil of patriots, the delight of friends ;

Without whose work divine, in heaven or earth,

Nought lovely, nought propitious comes to pass,

Nor hope, nor praise, nor honour. Her the Sire

Gave it in charge to rear the blooming mind.

The folded powers to open, to direct

The growth luxuriant of his young desires,

And from the laws of this majestic world

To teach him what was good. As thus the nymph

Her daily care attended, by her side 391

With constant steps her gay companion stayed,

The fair Euphrosyne, the gentle queen

Of smiles, and graceful gladness, and delights

That cheer alike the hearts of mortal men

And powers immortal. See the shining pair :

Behold where, from his dwelling now disclosed,

They quit their youthful charge and seek the skies."

I looked, and on the flowery turf there stood,
' Between two radiant forms, a smiling youth 400
Whose tender cheeks displayed the vernal flower
Of beauty : sweetest innocence illumed
His bashful eyes, and on his polished brow
Sate young simplicity. With fond regard
He viewed the associates, as their steps they moved ;
The younger chief his ardent eyes detained,
With mild regret invoking her return.
Bright as the star of evening she appeared

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 35

Amid the dusky scene. Eternal youth
O'er all her form its glowing honours breathed ;
And smiles eternal from her candid eyes 4Li

Flowed, like the dewy lustre of the morn,
Effusive, trembling on the placid waves.
The spring of heaven had shed its blushing spoils
To bind her sable tresses : full diffused,
Her yellow mantle floated in the breeze ;
And in her hand she waved a living branch,
Kich with immortal fruits, of power to calm
The wrathful heart, and, from the brightening eyes,
To chase the cloud of sadness. More sublime 420
The heavenly partner moved. The prime of age
Composed her steps. The presence of a god,
High on the circle of her brow enthroned
From each majestic motion darted awe,
Devoted awe ! till, cherished by her looks
Benevolent and meek, confiding love
To filial rapture softened all the soul.
Free in her graceful hand, she poised the sword
Of chaste dominion. An heroic crown
Displayed the old simplicity of pomp 430

Around her honoured head. A matron's robe,
White as the sunshine streams through vernal

clouds,
Her stately form invested. Hand in hand
The immortal pair forsook the enamelled green,
Ascending slowly. Rays of limpid light
Gleamed round their path ; celestial sounds were

heard,
And, through the fragrant air, ethereal dews
Distilled around them ; till at once the clouds,
Disparting wide in midway sky, withdrew
Their airy veil and left a bright expanse 4 to

Of empyrean flame, where, spent and drowned,
Afflicted vision plunged in vain to scan

36 THE PLEASURES OF

What object it involved. My feeble eyes
Endured not. Bending down to earth I stood,
With dumb attention. Soon a female voice,
As watery murmurs sweet, or warbling shades,
With sacred invocation thus began :

" Father of gods and mortals ! whose right arm,
With reins eternal, guides the moving heavens,
Bend thy propitious ear. Behold, well pleased 450
I seek to finish thy divine decree.
With frequent steps I visit yonder seat
Of man, thy offspring ; from the tender seeds
Of justice and of wisdom, to evolve
The latent honours of his generous frame ;
Till thy conducting hand shall raise his lot
From earth's dim scene to these ethereal walks,
The temple of thy glory. But not me,
Not my directing voice he oft requires,
Or hears delighted : this enchanting maid, 160
The associate thou hast given me, her alone
He loves, O Father ! absent, her he craves ;
And but for her glad presence ever joined,
Rejoices not in mine : that all my hopes
This thy benignant purpose to fulfil,
I deem uncertain : and my daily cares
Unfruitful all and vain, unless by thee
Still farther aided in the work divine."

She ceased ; a voice more awful thus replied :
" O thou ! in whom for ever I delight, 470

Fairer than all the inhabitants of Heaven,
Best image of thy Author ! far from thee
Be disappointment, or distaste, or blame,
Who soon or late shalt every work fulfil,
And no resistance find. If man refuse
To hearken to thy dictates ; or, allured
By meaner joys, to any other power
Transfer the honours due to thee alone ;

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 37

That joy which he pursues he ne'er shall taste.

That power in whom delighteth ne'er behold. 480

Go then, once more, and happy be thy toil ;

Go then ; but let not this thy smiling friend

Partake thy footsteps. In her stead, behold !

With thee the son of Xemesis I send ;

The fiend abhorred ! whose vengeance takes ac-

Of sacred order's violated laws. [count

See where he calls thee, burning to be gone,

Fierce to exhaust the tempest of his wrath

On yon devoted head. But thou, my child,

Control his cruel frenzy, and protect 490

Thy tender charge ; that, when despair shall grasp

His agonizing bosom, he may learn,

Then he may learn to love the gracious hand

Alone sufficient, in the hour of ill,

To save his feeble spirit ; then confess

Thy genuine honours, 0 excelling fair !

When all the plagues that wait the deadly will

Of this avenging demon, air the storms

Of night infernal, serve but to display

The energy of thy superior charms, 5oo

With mildest awe triumphant o'er his rage,

And shining clearer in the horrid gloom."

Here ceased that awful voice, and soon I felt
The cloudy curtain of refreshing eve
Was closed once more, from that immortal fire
Sheltering my eye-lids. Looking up, I viewed
A vast gigantic spectre striding on
Thro' murmuring thunders and a waste of clouds,
With dreadful action. Black as night his brow
Relentless frowns involved. His savage limbs 510
With sharp impatience violent he writhed,
As through convulsive anguish ; and his hand,
Armed with a scorpion lash, full oft he raised
In madness to his bosom, while his eyes

38 THE PLEASURES OF

Rained bitter tears, and bellowing loud he shook
The void with horror. Silent by his side
The virgin came. No discomposure stirred
Her features. From the glooms which hung around,
No stain of darkness mingled with the beam
Of her divine effulgence. Now they stoop 520
Upon the river bank ; and now to hail
His wonted guests, with eager steps advanced
The unsuspecting inmate of the shade.

As when a famished wolf, that all night long
Had ranged the Alpine snows, by chance at morn
Sees from a cliff, incumbent o'er the smoke
Of some lone village, a neglected kid
That strays along the wild for herb or spring ;
Down from the winding ridge he sweeps amain,
And thinks he tears him : so, with tenfold rage, 530 -
The monster sprung remorseless on his prey.
Amazed the stripling stood : with panting breast
Feebly he poured the lamentable wail
Of helpless consternation, struck at once,
And rooted to the ground. The Queen beheld
His terror and, with looks of tenderest care,
Advanced to save him. Soon the tyrant felt
Her awful power. His keen, tempestuous arm
Hung nerveless, nor descended where his rage
Had aimed the deadly blow ; then, dumb, retired s-to
With sullen rancour. Lo ! the sovereign maid
Folds with a mother's arms the fainting boy,
Till life rekindles in his rosy cheek ;
Then grasps his hand and cheers him with her
tongue :

" Oh ! wake thee, rouse thy spirit. Shall the spite
Of yon tormentor thus appal thy heart,
While I, thy friend and guardian, am at hand
To rescue and to heal ? Oh ! let thy soul
Remember what the will of Heaven ordains

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. od

Is ever good for all ; and if for all, 5.50

Then good for thee. Nor only by the warmth

And soothing sunshine of delightful things,

Do minds grow up and nourish. Oft, misled

By that bland light, the young unpractised views

Of reason wander through a fatal road,

Far from their native aim : as if to lie

Inglorious in the fragrant shade, and wait

The soft access of ever circling joys,

Were ail the end of being. Ask thyself,

This pleasing error, did it never lull 060

Thy wishes ? Has thy constant heart refused

The silken fetters of delicious ease ?

Or when divine Euphrosyne appeared

Within this dwelling, did not thy desires

Hang far below the measure of thy fate,

Which I revealed before thee ? and thy eye 5

Impatient of my counsels, turn away

To drink the soft effusion of her smiles ?

Know, then, for this the everlasting Sire

Deprives thee of her presence, and instead, 570

O wise and still benevolent ! ordains

This horrid visage hither to pursue

My steps ; that so thy nature may discern

Its real good, and what alone can save

Thy feeble spirit in this hour of ill

From folly and despair. 0 yet beloved !

Let not this headlong terror quite o'erwhelm

Thy scattered powers ; nor fatal deem the rage

Of this tormentor, nor his proud assault,

While I am here to vindicate thy toil, 580

Above the generous question of thy arm.

Brave by thy fears and in thy weakness strong,

This hour he triumphs : but confront his might

And dare him to the combat, then, with ease

Disarmed and quelled, his fierceness he resigns

40 THE PLEASURES OF

To bondage and to scorn : while thus inured

By watchful danger, by unceasing toil,

The immortal mind, superior to his fate,

Amid the outrage of external things,

Firm as the solid base of this great world, 590

Bests on his own foundations. Blow, ye winds !

Ye waves ! ye thunders ! roll your tempest on ;

Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky !

Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire

Be loosened from their seats ; yet, still serene,

The unconquered mind looks down upon the wreck ;

And, ever stronger as the storms advance,

Firm through the closing ruin holds his way,

Where Nature calls him to the destined goal."

So spake the goddess ; while through all her frame
Celestial raptures flowed, in every word, fioi

In every motion kindling warmth divine
To seize who listened. Vehement, and swift
As lightning fires the aromatic shade
In ^Ethiopian fields, the stripling felt
Her inspiration catch his fervid soul,
And, starting from his languor, thus exclaimed :

" Then let the trial come ! and witness thou,
If terror be upon me ; if I shrink
To meet the storm, or falter in my strength 610
When hardest it besets me. Do not think
That I am fearful and infirm of soul,
As late thy eyes beheld, for thou hast changed
My nature ; thy commanding voice has waked
My languid powers to bear me boldly on,
Where'er the will divine my path ordains,
Through toil or peril : only do not thou
Forsake me ; Oh ! be thou for ever near,
That I may listen to thy sacred voice,
And guide, by thy decrees, my constant feet. 620
But say, for ever are my eyes bereft ?

IMAGINATION. BOOK IT. 41

Say, shall the fair Euphrosyne nut once

Appear again to charm me ? Thou, in heaven !

O thou eternal arbiter of things !

Be thy great bidding done : for who am I,

To question thy appointment ? Let the frowm

Of this avenger every morn o'ercast

The cheerful dawn, and every evening damp

"With double night my dwelling ; I will learn

To hail them both, and, unrepining, bear 6;x>

His hateful presence : but permit my tongue

One glad request, and if my deeds may find

Thy awful eye propitious, Oh ! restore

The rosy featured maid ; again to cheer

This lonely seat, and bless me with her smiles."

He spoke; when, instant, through the sable
glooms
With which that furious presence had involved
The ambient air, a flood of radiance came
Swift as the lightning flash ; the melting clouds
Flew diverse, and, amid the blue serene, 6io

Euphrosyne appeared. With sprightly step
The nymph alighted on the irriguous lawn,
And to her wondering audience thus began :

" Lo ! I am here to answer to your vows ;
And be the meeting fortunate ! I come
"With joyful tidings ; we shall part no more —
Hark ! how the gentle echo from her cell
Talks through the cliffs, and murmuring o'er the

stream
Repeats the accent; we shall part no more. —
O my delightful friends ! well pleased, on high, 650
The Father has beheld you, while the might
Of that stern foe with bitter trial proved
Your equal doings : then for ever spake
The high decree ; that thou, celestial maid !
Howe'er that grisly phantom on thy steps

42 THE PLEASURES OF

May sometimes dare intrude, yet never more
Shalt thou, descending to the abode of man,
Alone endure the rancour of his arm,
Or leave thy loved Euphrosyne behind."

She ended ; and the whole romantic scene 660
Immediate vanished ; rocks, and woods, and rills,
The mantling tent, and each mysterious form
Flew like the pictures of a morning dream,
When sunshine fills the bed. Awhile I stood
Perplexed and giddy ; till the radiant power
Who bade the visionary landscape rise,
As up to him I turned, with gentlest looks
Preventing my enquiry, thus began :

" There let thy soul acknowledge its complaint ;
Plow blind, how impious ! There behold the ways
Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man, 671

For ever just, benevolent, and wise :
That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursued
By vexing fortune and intrusive pain,
Should never be divided from her chaste,
Her fair attendant, Pleasure. Need I urge
Thy tardy thought through all the various round
Of this existence, that thy softening soul
At length may learn what energy the hand
Of virtue mingles in the bitter tide (%o

Of passion, swelling with distress and pain,
To mitigate the sharp with gracious drops
Of cordial pleasure ? Ask the faithful youth.
Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved
So often fills his arms ; so often draws
His lonely footsteps, at the silent hour,
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ?
Oh ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds
Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 689

That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 43

With virtue's kindest looks his aching breast,
And turns his tears to rapture. — Ask the crowd
Which flies impatient from the village walk
To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when, far below.
The cruel winds have hurled upon the coast
Some helpless bark ; while sacred Pity melts ;
The general eye, or Terror's icy hand
Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair ;
While every mother closer to her breast 700

Catches her child, and, pointing where the wraves
Foam through the shattered vessel, shrieks aloud
As one poor wretch that spreads his piteous arms
For succour, swallowed by the roaring surge,
As now another, dashed against the rock,
Drops lifeless down : Oh ! deemest thou indeed
No kind endearment here by Nature given
To mutual terror and compassion's tears ?
No sweetly melting softness which attracts,
O'er all that edge of pain, the social powers 710
To this their proper action and their end ?
— Ask thy own heart ; when, at the midnight hour,
Slow through that studious gloom, thy pausing eye,
Led by the glimmering taper, moves around
The sacred Volumes of the dead, the songs
Of Grecian bards, and records wrote by Fame
For Grecian heroes, where the present power
Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page,
Even as a father blessing, while he reads
The praises of his son. If then thy soul, 720

Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days,
Mix in their deeds, and kindle with their flame ;
Say, when the prospect blackens on thy view,
When, rooted from the base, heroic states
Mourn in the dust, and tremble at the frown
Of curst ambition ; when the pious band12
Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires

44 THE PLEASURES OF

Lie side by side in gore ; when ruffian pride

Usurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp

Of public power, the majesty of rule, 730

The sword, the laurel," and the purple robe,

To slavish empty pageants, to adorn

A tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyes

Of such as bow the knee ; when honoured urns

Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust

And storied arch, to glut the coward rage

Of regal envy, strew the public way

With hallowed ruins ; when the Muse's haunt,

The marble porch where Wisdom wont to talk

With Socrates or Tully, hears no more, 740

Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks,

Or female Superstition's midnight prayer ;

When ruthless Rapine from the hand of Time

Tears the destroying scythe, with surer blow

To sweep the works of glory from their base ;

Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown street

Expands his raven wings, and up the wall,

Where senates once the price of monarchs doomed,

Hisses the gliding snake through hoary weeds 749

That clasp the mouldering column ; thus defaced,

Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrills

Thy beating bosom, when the patriot's tear

Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm

In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove

To fire the impious wreath on Philip's13 brow,

Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ;

Say, does thy secret soul repine to taste

The big distress ? Or wouldest thou then exchange

Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot

Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd 760

Of mute barbarians, bending to his nod,

And bears aloft his gold-invested front,

And says within himself, ' I am a king,

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 45

And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe
Intrude upon mine ear ? ' — The baleful dregs
Of these late ages, this inglorious draught
Of servitude and folly, have not yet,
Blest be the eternal Ruler of the world,
Denied to such a depth of sordid shame
The native honours of the human soul, ?;o

Xor so effaced the image of its Sire."

46

THE PLEASURES OF

BOOK III.

THE ARGUMENT.

Pleasure in observing the tempers and manners of
men, even where vicious or absurd. The origin of
Vice $ from false representations of the fancy, producing
false opinions concerning good and evil. Inquiry into
ridicule. The general sources of ridicule in the minds
and characters of men, enumerated. Final cause of
the sense of ridicule. The resemblance of certain
aspects of inanimate things to the sensations and pro-
perties of the mind. The operations of the mind in the
production of the works of Imagination, described.
The secondary pleasure from Imitation. The bene-
volent order of the world illustrated in the arbitrary
connection of these pleasures with the objects which
excite them. The nature and conduct of taste. Con-
cluding with an account of the natural and moral
advantages resulting from a sensible and well formed
imagination.

?HAT wonder therefore, since the en-
dearing ties
Of passion link the universal kind
Of man so close, what wonder if to
search
This common nature through the various change
Of sex, and age, and fortune, and the frame
Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind
With unresisted charms ! The spacious west,

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 47

And all the teeming regions of the south,

Hold not a quarry, to the curious night

Gf Knowledge, half so tempting or so fair, 10

As man to man. Nor only where the smiles

Of Love invite ; nor only where the applause

Of cordial Honour turns the attentive eye

On Virtue's graceful deeds. For since the course

Of things external acts in different ways

On human apprehensions, as the hand

Of Nature tempered to a different frame

Peculiar minds ; so, haply, where the powers

Of Fancy neither lessen nor enlarge

The images of things, but paint in all 20

Their genuine hues, the features which they wore

In Nature ;l there Opinion will be true,

And Action right. For Action treads the path

In which Opinion says he follows good,

Or flies from evil ; and Opinion gives

Report of good or evil, as the scene

Was drawn by Fancy, lovely or deformed :

Thus her report can never there be true,

Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye,

With glaring colours and distorted lines. 30

Is there a man, who, at the sound of death,

Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjured up, [groans,

And black before him; nought but death-bed

And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink

Of light and being, down the gloomy air ;

An unknown depth ? Alas ! in such a mind,

If no bright forms of excellence attend

The image of his country ; nor the pomp

Of sacred senates, nor the guardian voice

Of Justice on her throne, nor aught that wakes 40

The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame ;

Will not Opinion tell him, that to die,

Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill

48 THE PLEASURES OF

Than to betray his country ? And, in act,

Will he not choose to be a wretch and live ?

Here vice begins then. From the enchanting cup

Which Fancy holds to all, the unwary thirst

Of youth oft swallows a Circsean draught,

That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye

Of Reason, till no longer he discerns, 50

And only guides to err. Then revel forth

A furious band that spurn him from the throne ;

And all is uproar. Thus ambition grasps

The empire of the soul : thus pale Revenge

Unsheaths her murderous dagger ; and the hands

Of Lust and Rapine, with unholy arts,

Watch to o'erturn the barrier of the laws

That keeps them from their prey : thus all the

plagues
The wicked bear, or, o'er the trembling scene,
The tragic Muse discloses, under shapes 60

Of honour, safety, pleasure, ease, or pomp,
Stole first into the mind. Yet not by all
Those lying forms which Fancy in the brain
Engenders, are the kindling passions driven
To guilty deeds ; nor Reason bound in chains,
That Vice alone may lord it : oft, adorned
With solemn pageants, Folly mounts the throne
And plays her idiot antics, like a queen.
A thousand garbs she wears ; a thousand ways
She wheels her giddy empire. — Lo ! thus far, 70
With bold adventure, to the Mantuan lyre
I sing of Nature's charms, and touch, well pleased,
A stricter note : now haply must my song
Unbend her serious measure, and reveal,
In lighter strains, how Folly's awkward arts
Excite impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke ;2
The sportive province of the comic Muse.

See ! in what crowds the uncouth forms advance :

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 49

Each would outstrip the other, each prevent
Our careful search, and offer to your gaze, so

Unasked, his motley features. Wait awhile,
My curious friends ! and let us first arrange
In proper orders your promiscuous throng.

Behold the foremost band ;3 of slender thought
And easy faith, whom flattering Fancy soothes,
With lying spectres, in themselves to view
Illustrious forms of excellence and good,
That scorn the mansion. With exulting hearts
They spread their spurious treasures to the sun,
And bid the world admire. But chief the glance
Of wishful Envy draws their joy-bright eyes, 91
And lifts with self-applause each lordly brow.
In number boundless as the blooms of Spring,
Behold their glaring idols — empty shades
By Fancy gilded o'er, and then set up
For adoration. Some, in Learning's garb,
With formal band, and sable-cinctured gown,
And rags of mouldy volumes. Some, elate
With martial splendour, steely pikes and swords
Of costly frame, and gay Phoenician robes 100
Inwrought with flowering gold, assume the port
Of stately Valour : listening by his side
There stands a female form ; to her, with looks
Of earnest import, pregnant with amaze,
He talks of deadly deeds, of breaches, storms,
And sulphurous mines, and ambush ; then at once
Breaks off, and smiles to see her look so pale,
And asks some wondering question of her fears.
Others of graver mien ; behold, adorned
With holy ensigns, how sublime they move, 110
And, bending oft their sanctimonious eyes,
Take homage of the simple-minded throng —
Ambassadors of Heaven ! Nor much unlike
Is he whose visage, in the lazy mist

50 THE PLEASURES OF

That mantles every feature, hides a brood

Of politic conceits ; of whispers, nods,

And hints deep-omened with unwieldy schemes,

And dark portents of state. Ten thousand more,

Prodigious habits and tumultuous tongues,

Pour dauntless in, and swell the boastful band. 120

Then comes the second order ;4 all who seek
The debt of praise, where watchful Unbelief
Darts through the thin pretence her squinting eye
On some retired appearance, which belies
The boasted virtue, or annuls the applause
That justice else would pay. Here, side by side,
I see two leaders of the solemn train
Approaching : one, a female old and gray,
With eyes demure and wrinkle -furrowed brow,
Pale as the cheeks of death ; yet still she stuns
The sickening audience with a nauseous tale : m
How many youths her myrtle chains have worn !
Plow many virgins at her triumphs pined !
Yet how resolved she guards her cautious heart :
Such is her terror at the risks of love,
And man's seducing tongue ! The other seems
A bearded sage, ungentle in his mien,
And sordid all his habit ; peevish Want
Grins at his heels, while down the gazing throng
He stalks, resounding, in magnific praise, ho

The vanity of riches, the contempt
Of pomp and power. Be prudent in your zeal,
Ye grave associates ! let the silent grace
Of her who blushes at the fond regard
Her charms inspire, more eloquent, unfold
The praise of spotless honour ; let the man
Whose eye regards not his illustrious pomp
And ample store, but as indulgent streams
To cheer the barren soil and spread the fruits
Of joy, let him, by juster measure, fix 150

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 51

The price of riches and the end of power.
Another tribe succeeds ;5 deluded long
By Fancy's dazzling optics, these behold
The images of some peculiar things
With brighter hues resplendent, and portrayed
With features nobler far than e'er adorned
Their genuine objects. Hence the fevered heart
Pants with delirious hope for tinsel charms ;
Hence, oft obtrusive on the eye of scorn,
Untimely zeal her witless pride betrays ; 160

And serious manhood, from the towering aim
Of wisdom, stoops to emulate the boast
Of childish toil. Behold yon mystic form,
Bedecked with feathers, insects, weeds, and shells!
"Not with intenser view the Samian sage
Bent his fixed eye on heaven's eternal fires,
When first the order of that radiant scene
Swelled his exulting thought, than this surveys
A muckworm's entrails or a spider's fang.
JSText him a youth, with flowers and myrtles
crowned, 170

Attends that virgin form, and, blushing, kneels,
With fondest gesture and a suppliant's tongue,
To win her coy regard : adieu, for him,
The dull engagements of the bustling world !
Adieu the sick impertinence of praise,
And hope, and action ! for with her alone,
By streams and shades, to steal the sighing hours,
Is all he asks, and all that fate can give !
Thee too, facetious Momion,6 wandering here,
Thee, dreaded censor ! oft have I beheld 180

Bewildered unawares: alas ! too long
Flushed with thy comic triumphs and the spoils
Of sly derision ; till, on every side
Hurling thy random bolts, offended Truth
Assigned thee here thy station, with the slaves

52 THE PLEASURES OF

Of Folly. Thy once formidable name

Shall grace her humble records, and be heard

In scoffs and mockery, bandied from the lips

Of all the vengeful brotherhood around,

So oft the patient victims of thy scorn. 190

But now, ye gay !7 to whom indulgent fate,
Of all the Muse's empire hath assigned
The fields of folly, hither each advance
Your sickles ; here the teeming soil affords
Its richest growth. A favourite brood appears,
In whom the demon, with a mother's joy,
Views all her charms reflected, all her cares
At full repaid. Ye most illustrious band !
Who, scorning Reason's tame, pedantic rules,
And Order's vulgar bondage, never meant 200
For souls sublime as yours, with generous zeal
Pay Yice the reverence Virtue long usurped,
And yield Deformity the fond applause
Which Beauty wont to claim ; forgive my song.
That for the blushing diffidence of youth,
It shuns the unequal province of your praise.

Thus far triumphant in the pleasing guile
Of bland Imagination, Folly's train
Have dared our search :8 but now a dastard kind
Advance, reluctant, and with faltering feet 210
Shrink from the gazer's eye ; — enfeebled hearts
Whom Fancy chills with visionary fears,
Or bends to servile tameness with conceits
Of shame, of evil, or of base defect,
Fantastic and delusive. Here the slave,
Who droops abashed when sullen Pomp surveys
His humbler habit ; here the trembling wretch,
Unnerved, and froze with Terror's icy bolts,
Spent in weak wailings, drowned in shameful tears,
At every dream of danger ; here, subdued 220
By frontless laughter and the hardy scorn

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 53

Of old, unfeeling vice, the abject soul,
Who, blushing, half resigns the candid praise
Of Temperance and Honour ; half disowns
A freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride,
And hears, with sickly smiles, the venal mouth,
With foulest license, mock the patriot's name.

Last of the motley bands on whom the power
Of gay Derision bends her hostile aim,9
Is that where shameful Ignorance presides. 230
Beneath her sordid banners, lo ! they march
Like blind and lame. Whate'er their doubtful

hands
Attempt, Confusion straight appears behind,
And troubles all the work. Thro' many a maze,
Perplexed, they struggle, changing every path,
O'erturning every purpose ; then, at last,
Sit down dismayed, and leave the entangled scene
For Scorn to sport with. Such then is the abode
Of Folly in the mind, and such the shapes
In which she governs her obsequious train. 240

Through every scene of ridicule in things
To lead the tenor of my devious lay ;
Through every swift occasion which the hand
Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting
Distends her sallying nerves and chokes her

tongue ;
What were it but to count each crystal drop
Which Morning's dewy fingers on the blooms
Of May distil ? Suffice it to have said,
Where'er the power of Ridicule displays 249

Her quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous form,
Some stubborn dissonance of things combined,
Strikes on the quick observer : whether Pomp,
Or Praise, or Beauty, mix their partial claim
Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds,
Where foul Deformity, are wont to dwell ;

54 THE PLEASURES OF

Or whether these, with violation loathed,
Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien,
The charms of Beauty, or the boasts of Praise.10

Ask we for what fair end the Almighty Sire
In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt, <?6o
These grateful stings of laughter ; from disgust
Educing pleasure ?n Wherefore, but to aid
The tardy steps of Reason, and at once,
By this prompt impulse, urge us to depress
The giddy aims of Folly ? Though the light
Of Truth, slow-dawning on the enquiring mind,
At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie,
How these uncouth disorders end at last
In public evil ! yet benignant Heaven,
Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears 270
To thousands, conscious what a scanty pause
From labours and from care the wider lot
Of humble life affords for studious thought
To scan the maze of ISTature ; therefore stamped
The glaring scenes with characters of scorn,
As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown,
As to the lettered sage's curious eye.

Such are the various aspects of the mind —
Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughts
Attain that secret harmony which blends 280

The ethereal spirit with its mould of clay ;
Oh ! teach me to reveal the grateful charm
That searchless Nature o'er the sense of man
Diffuses, to behold in lifeless things,
The inexpressive semblance of himself,
Of thought and passion.12 Mark the sable woods
That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow ;
With what religious awe the solemn scene
Commands your steps ! as if the reverend form
Of Minos or of IsTuma should forsake 29c

The Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 55

Move to your pausing eye. Behold the expanse
Of yon gay landscape, where the silver clouds
Flit o'er the heavens, before the sprightly breeze :
]STow their gray cincture skirts the doubtful sun ;
Now streams of splendour, thro' their opening veil
Effulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawn
The aerial shadows, on the curling brook,
And on the shady margin's quivering leaves,
With quickest lustre glancing : while you view zoo
The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast,
Plays not the lively sense of winning mirth,
With clouds and sunshine chequered ; while the

round
Of social converse, to the inspiring tongue
Of some gay nymph amid her subject train,
Moves all obsequious ? Whence is this effect,
This kindred power of such discordant things ?
Or flows their semblance from that mystic tone
To which the new-born mind's harmonious powers
At first were strung ? Or rather from the links
Which artful custom twines around her frame ?

For when the different images of things,
By chance combined, have struck the attentive
With deeper impulse, or, connected long, [soul
Have drawn her frequent eye ; howe'er distinct
The external scenes, yet oft the ideas gain
From that conjunction an eternal tie,
And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind
Recall one partner of the various league ;
Immediate, lo ! the firm confederates rise, 3C0
And each his former station straight resumes :
One movement governs the consenting throng,
And all at once with rosy pleasure shine,
Or all are saddened with the glooms of care.
'Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold,
Two faithful needles, from the informing touch

56 THE PLEASURES OF

Of the same parent stone, together drew
Its mystic virtue, and at first conspired,
With fatal impulse quivering to the pole :13 3C9
Then, tho' disjoined by kingdoms, tho' the main
Rolled its broad surge betwixt, and different stars
Beheld their wakeful motions, yet preserved
The former friendship, and remembered still
The alliance of their birth : whate'er the line
Which one possessed, nor pause, nor quiet knew
The sure associate, ere, with trembling speed,
He found its path and fixed unerring there.
Such is the secret union, when we feel
A song, a flower, a name, at once restore 339

Those long connected scenes where first they moved
The attention ; backward thro' her mazy walks
Guiding the wanton fancy to her scope,
To temples, courts, or fields, with all the band
Of painted forms, of passions, and designs,
Attendant ; whence, if pleasing in itself,
The prospect from that sweet accession gains
Redoubled influence o'er the listening mind.

By these mysterious ties, the busy power
Of Memory her ideal train preserves
Entire ;14 or, when they would elude her watch, 350
Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste
Of dark oblivion ; thus collecting all
The various forms of being to present,
Before the curious aim of mimic art,
Their largest choice : like Spring's unfolded blooms
Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee
May taste at will, from their selected spoils
To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse
Of living lakes in Summer's noontide calm, 359
Reflects the bordering shade and sun-bright

heavens
With fairer semblance ; not the sculptured gold

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 5/

More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace,
Than he whose birth the sister powers of art
Propitious viewed, and from his genial star
Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind ;
Than his attempered bosom must preserve
The seal of Nature. There alone unchanged,
Her form remains. The balmy walks of May
There breathe perennial sweets : the trembling

chord
Eesounds for ever in the abstracted ear, 370

Melodious : and the virgin's radiant eye,
Superior to disease, to grief, and time,
Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at length,
Endowed with all that nature can bestow,
The child of Fancy oft in silence bends
O'er these mixt treasures of his pregnant breast,
With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves
To frame he knows not what excelling things,
And win he knows not what sublime reward
Of praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind sso
Feels her young nerves dilate : the plastic powers
Labour for action : blind emotions heave
His bosom ; and, with loveliest frenzy caught,
From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye,
From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes,
Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call,
Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth,
From ocean's bed they come : the eternal heavens
Disclose their splendours, and the dark abyss
Pours out her births unknown. With fixed gaze
He marks the rising phantoms ; now compares
Their different forms ; now blends them, now
Enlarges and extenuates by turns ; [divides,

Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands,
And infinitely varies. Hither now,
Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim.

58 THE PLEASURES OF

With endless choice perplexed. At length his plan
Begins to open. Lucid order dawns ;
And, as from Chaos old the jarring seeds
Of Nature, at the voice divine, repaired 400

Each to its place, till rosy earth unveiled
Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun
Sprung up the blue serene, by swift degrees
Thus disentangled, his entire design
Emerges. Colours mingle, features join,
And lines converge : the fainter parts retire ;
The fairer, eminent in light, advance ;
And every image on its neighbour smiles.
Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy
Contemplates. Then, with Promethean art, 410
Into its proper vehicle he breathes
The fair conception ;l0 which, embodied thus,
And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears
An object ascertained: while thus informed,
The various organs of his mimic skill,
The consonance of sounds, the featured rock,
The shadowy picture and impassioned verse,
Beyond their proper powers, attract the soul
By that expressive semblance ; while, in sight
Of Nature's great original, we scan 4co

The lively child of Art ; while, line by line,
And feature after feature, we refer
To that sublime exemplar whence it stole
Those animating charms. Thus Beauty's palm
Betwixt them wavering hangs ; applauding Love
Doubts where to choose ; and mortal man aspires
To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud
Of gathering hail, with limpid crusts of ice
Inclosed, and obvious to the beaming sun, 4?9
Collects his lame effulgence ; straight the heavens
With equal flames present on either hand
The radiant visage : Persia stands at gaze,

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 59

Appalled ; and on the brink of Ganges waits
The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name,
To which the fragrance of the south shall burn,
To which his warbled orisons ascend.

Such various bliss the well-tuned heart enjoys,
Favoured of Heaven ! while, plunged in sordid

cares,
The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine ;
And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke 440

Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away
Abashed and chill of heart, with sager frowns
Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain,
PerhajDS even now, some cold, fastidious judge
Casts a disdainful eye ; and calls my toil,
And calls the love and beauty which I sing,
The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor ! say,
Is Beauty then a dream, because the glooms
Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense
To let her shine upon thee ? So the man 450

Whose eye ne'er opened on the light of heaven,
Might smile with scorn while raptured vision tells
Of the gay- coloured radiance flushing bright
O'er all creation. From the wise be far
Such gross, unhallowed pride ; nor needs my song
Descend so low ; but rather now unfold,
If human thought could reach, or words unfold,
By what mysterious fabric of the mind,
The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound
Result from airy motion ; and from shape 4^0

The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair.
By what fine ties hath God connected things
When present in the mind, which in themselves
Have no connection ? Sure the rising sun
O'er the cerulean convex of the sea,
With equal brightness and with equal warmth
Might roll his fiery orb ; nor yet the soul

60 THE PLEASURES OF

Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers
Exulting in the splendour she beholds ; 4fig

Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp
Of some triumphal day. When, joined at eve,
Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest
Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain [breath,
Attemper, could not man's discerning ear
Through all its tones the symphony pursue ;
Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy
Steal thro' his veins, and fan the awakened heart ;
Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song ?
But were not Nature still endowed at large
With all which life requires, tho' unadorned 480
With such enchantment ; wherefore then her form
So exquisitely fair ? her breath perfumed
With such ethereal sweetness ? whence her voice,
Informed at will to raise or to depress [light

The impassioned soul ? and whence the robes of
Which thus invest her with more lovely pomp
Than Fancy can describe ? Whence but from Thee,
O source divine of ever -flowing love !.
And thy unmeasured goodness ? Not content
With every food of life to nourish man, 490

By kind illusions of the wondering sense
Thou mak'st all Nature beauty to his eye,
Or music to his ear : well-pleased he scans
The goodly prospect, and, with inward smiles,
Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain ;
Beholds the azure canopy of heaven,
And living lamps that over-arch his head
With more than regal splendour ; bends his ears
To the full choir of water, air, and earth ;
Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought, 50k,
Nor doubts the painted green, or azure arch,
Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds,
Than space, or motion, or eternal time ;

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 61

So sweet he feels their influence to attract

The fixed soul, to brighten the dull glooms

Of care, and make the destined road of life

Delightful to his feet. So fables tell,

The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits,

Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spells

Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils, oio

A visionary paradise disclosed

Amid the dubious wild ; with streams, and shades,

And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles,

Cheers his long labours, and renews his frame.

What then is taste, but these internal powers
Active, and strong, and feelingly alive
To each fine impulse ? a discerning sense
Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust
From things deformed, or disarranged, or gross
In species ? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold,
Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow ; 521
But God alone, when first his active hand
Imprints the secret bias of the soul.
He, mighty Parent ! wise and just in all,
Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven,
Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swain
Who journeys homeward from a summer day's
Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils
And due repose, he loiters to behold
The sunshine gleaming, as thro' amber clouds, 530
O'er all the western sky : full soon, I ween,
His rude expression and untutored airs,
Beyond the power of language, will unfold
The form of beauty, smiling at his heart.
How lovely ! how commanding ! But tho' Heaven
In every breast hath sown these early seeds
Of love and admiration, yet in vain,
Without fair culture's kind parental aid,
Without enlivening suns, and genial showers,

62 THE PLEASURES OF

And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope Ma
The tender plant should rear its blooming head,
Or yield the harvest promised in its spring.
Nor yet will every soil with equal stores
Repay the tiller's labour, or attend
His will, obsequious ; whether to produce
The olive or the laurel. Different minds
Incline to different objects ; one pursues
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ; 1G
Another sighs for harmony, and grace, 549

And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning fires
The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground ;
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,
And ocean, groaning from the lowest bed,
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky ;
Amid the mighty uproar, while below
The nations tremble, Shakespeare looks abroad,
From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys
The elemental war. But Waller longs,17
All on the margin of some flowery stream,
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool s6o
Of plantain shades, and to the listening deer
The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain
Resound, soft-warbling all the livelong clay .
Consenting Zephyr sighs ; the weeping rill
Joins in his plaint, melodious ; mute the groves ;
And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.
Such and so various are the tastes of men.

Oh ! blest of Heaven, whom not the languid
Of Luxury, the Siren ! not the bribes [songs
Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 570
Of pageant Honour can seduce to leave
Those ever-blooming sweets, which, from the store
Of Nature, fair Imagination culls,
To charm the enlivened soul ! What tho' not all
Of mortal offspring can attain the heights

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 63

Of envied life ; though only few possess
Patrician treasures or imperial state;
Yet Nature's care, to all her children just,
With richer treasures and an ampler state,
Endows at large whatever happy man 580

Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp,
The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns
The princely dome, the column and the arch,
The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold,
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim,
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the Spring
Distills her dews, and from the silken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds; for him, the hand
Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch 589

With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.
Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings ;
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes
The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling shade
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake
Fresh pleasure, unreproved.18 Nor thence partakes
Fresh pleasure only : for the attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her powers, 600

Becomes herself harmonious : wont so long
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home
To find a kindred order, to exert
Within herself this elegance of love,
This fair-inspired delight : her tempered powers
Refine at length, and every passion wears
A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.
But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze
On Nature's form, where, negligent of all 610

These lesser graces, she assumes the port

64 THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

Of that Eternal Majesty that weighed
The world's foundations, if to these the mind
Exalts her daring eye, then mightier far
Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms
Of servile custom cramp her generous powers ?
Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth
Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down
To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear ?
Lo ! she appeals to Nature, to the winds 620

And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course,
The elements and seasons : all declare
For what the Eternal Maker has ordained
The powers of man : we feel within ourselves
His energy divine : he tells the heart,
He meant, he made us to behold and love
What he beholds and loves, the general orb
Of life and being ; to be great like him.
Beneficent and active. Thus the men
Whom Nature's works can charm, with God
himself 6.30

Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day,
With his conceptions, act upon his plan,
And form to his, the relish of their souls.

NOTES OX BOOK I.

Page 6. ver. 7. 1

}>HE word musical is here taken in its
original and most extensive import ; com-
prehending as well the pleasures we re-
ceive from the beauty or magnificence of
natural objects, as those which arise from poetry,
painting, music, or any other of the elegant or imagin-
ative arts. In which sense it has been already used
in our language by writers of unquestionable autho-
rity.

Page 7, ver. 45. 2 Lucret. lib. ii. 921.
Nee me animi fallit quam sint obscura, sed acri
Percussit thyrso laudis spes magna meum cor,
Et simul incussit suavem mi in pectus amorem
Musarum ; quo nunc instinctus mente vigenti
Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nuilius ante
Trita solo : juvat integros accedere fonteis,
Atque haurire : juvatque novos discerpcre flores ;
Insignem meo capiti petere inde coronam,
Unde prius nulli velar int tempora Musae.
Page 8, ver. 109. 3 The statue of Memnon, so
famous in antiquity, stood in the temple of Serapis at
Thebes, one of the great cities of old Egypt. It was
of a very hard, iron-like stone, and, according to
Juvenal, held in its hand a lyre, which, being touched
by the sunbeams, emitted a distinct and agreeable
sound. Tacitus mentions it as one of the principal
curiosities which Germanicus took notice of in his
journey through Egypt ; and Strabo affirms that he,
with many others, heard it.

66 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF

Page 10, ver. 152. 4 In apologizing for the fre-
quent negligences of the sublimest authors of Greece,
" Those god-like geniuses," says Longinus, " were
well assured that Nature had not intended man for a
low-spirited or ignoble being ; but bringing us into life
and the midst of this wide universe, as before a multi-
tude assembled at some heroic solemnity, that we
might be spectators of all her magnificence, and candi-
dates high in emulation for the prize of glory 5 she has
therefore implanted in our souls an inextinguishable
love of every thing great and exalted, of every thing
which appears divine beyond our comprehension.
Whence it comes to pass, that even the whole world is
not an object sufficient for the depth and rapidity of
human imagination, wThich often sallies forth beyond
the limits of all that surrounds us. Let any man cast
his eye through the whole circle of our existence, and
consider how especially it abounds in excellent and
grand objects, he will soon acknowledge for wrhat
enjoyments and pursuits we were destined. Thus by
the very propensity of nature wre are led to admire,
not little springs or shallow rivulets, however clear and
delicious, but the Nile, the Rhine, the Danube, and,
much more than all, the Ocean, &c," Dionys. Longin.
de Sublim. § 24.

Page 11, ver. 202. 3 " Ne se peut-il point qu'il
y a un grand espace au dela de la region des etoiles ?
Que ce soit le ciel empyree, 011 non, to uj ours cet espace
immense, qui environne toute cette region, pourra etre
rempli de bonheur et de gloire. II pourra etre congu
comme Pocean, ou se rendent les fleuves de toutes les
creatures bien-heureuses, quand elles seront venues a
leur perfection dans le systeme des etoiles." Leibnitz
dans le Thtodicee part i. § 19.

Page 11, ver. 204. 6 It was a notion of the great
Mr. Huygens, that there may be fixed stars at such a
distance from our solar system, as that their light
should not have had time to reach us, even from the
creation of the world to this day.

Page 12, ver. 235. 7 It is here said, that in conse-

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 67

quence of the love of novelty, objects which at first
were highly delightful to the mind, lose that effect by
repeated attention to them. But the instance of habit
is opposed to this observation ; for there, objects at
first distasteful are in time rendered entirely agreeable
by repeated attention.

The difficulty in this case will be removed, if we
consider, that, when objects at first agreeable, lose that
influence by frequently recurring, the mind is wholly
passive, and the perception involuntary ; but habit, on
the other hand, generally supposes choice and activity
accompanying it : so that the pleasure arises here not
from the object, but from the mind's conscious deter-
mination of its own activity ; and, consequently, in-
creases in proportion to the frequency of that deter-
mination.

It will still be urged, perhaps, that a familiarity with
disagreeable objects renders them at length acceptable,
even when there is no room for the mind to resolve or
act at all. In this case, the appearance must be
accounted for one of these ways.

The pleasure from habit may be merely negative.
The object at first gave uneasiness : this uneasiness
gradually wears off as the object grows familiar : and
the mind, finding it at last entirely removed, reckons
its situation really pleasurable, compared with what it
had experienced before.

The dislike conceived of the object at first, might be
owing to prejudice or want of attention. Consequently
the mind being necessitated to review it often, may at
length perceive its own mistake, and be reconciled to
what it had looked upon with aversion. In which case,
a sort of instinctive justice naturally leads it to make
amends for the injury, by running toward the other
extreme of fondness and attachment.

Or lastly, though the object itself should always
continue disagreeable, yet circumstances of pleasure
or good fortune may occur along with it. Thus an
association may arise in the mind, and the object never
be remembered without those pleasing circumstances

68 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF

attending it ; by which means the disagreeable impres-
sion which it at first occasioned will in time be quite
obliterated.

Page 12, ver. 240. 8 These two ideas are oft con-
founded 5 though it is evident the mere novelty of an
object makes it agreeable, even where the mind is not
affected with the least degree of wonder : whereas
wonder indeed always implies novelty, being never
excited by common or well-known appearances. But
the pleasure in both cases is explicable from the same
final cause — the acquisition of knowledge and enlarge-
ment of our views of nature : on this account, it is
natural to treat of them together.

Page 13, ver. 288. 9 By these islands, which were
also called the Fortunate, the ancients are now generally
supposed to have meant the Canaries. They were
celebrated by the poets for the mildness and fertility
of the climate ; for the gardens of the daughters of
Hesperus, the brother of Atlas ; and the dragon which
constantly watched their golden fruit, till it was slain
by the Tyrian Hercules.

Page 14, ver. 296. l0 Daphne, the daughter of
Peneus, transformed into a laurel.

Page 16, ver. 374. n " Do you imagine," says
Socrates to Aristippus, i( that what is good is not also
beautiful ? Have you not observed that these appear-
ances always coincide ? Virtue, for instance, in the
same respect as to which we call it good, is ever
acknowledged to be beautiful also. In the characters
of men we always* join the twro denominations together.
The beauty of human bodies corresponds, in like man-
ner, with that economy of parts which constitutes them
good ; and in every circumstance of life, the same
object is constantly accounted both beautiful and good,
inasmuch as it answers the purposes for which it was
designed." Xen. Mem. Socrat. I. Hi. c. 8.

This excellent observation has been illustrated and

* This the Athenians did in a peculiar manner, by
the words Ka\oicaya6bg and KaXoKayaOia,

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 69

extended by the noble restorer of ancient philosophy ;
see the Characteristics , vol. ii. pp. 339 and 422, and
vol. Hi. p. 181. And his most ingenious disciple has
particularly shown, that it holds in the general laws of
nature, in the works of art, and the conduct of the
sciences. " Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of
Beauty and Virtue" Treat, i. § 8. As to the connection
between beauty and truth, there are two opinions con-
cerning it. Some philosophers assert an independent
and invariable law in nature, in consequence of which
all rational beings must alike perceive beauty in some
certain proportions, and deformity in the contrary.
And this necessity being supposed the same with that
which commands the assent or dissent of the under-
standing, it follows of course that beauty is founded on
the universal and unchangeable law of truth.

But others there are, who believe beauty to be
merely a relative and arbitrary thing ; that indeed it
was a benevolent design in nature to annex so de-
lightful a sensation to those objects which are best and
most perfect in themselves, that so we might be engaged
to the choice of them at once and without staying to
infer their usefulness from their structure and effects ;
but that it is not impossible, in a physical sense, that
two beings, of equal capacities for truth, should per-
ceive, one of them beauty, and the other deformity, in
the same relations. And upon this supposition, by
that truth which is always connected with beauty,
nothing more can. be meant than the conformity of any
object to those proportions upon which, after careful
examination, the beauty of that species is found to
depend. Polycletus, for instance, a famous ancient
sculptor of Sicyon, from an accurate mensuration of the
several parts of the most perfect human bodies, deduced
a canon or system of proportions, which was the rule
of all succeeding artists. Suppose a statue modelled
according to this canon : a man of mere natural taste,
upon looking at it, without entering into its proportions,
confesses and admires its beauty ; whereas a professor
of the art applies his measures to the head, the neck, or

70 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF

the hand, and, without attending to its beauty, pro*
nounces the workmanship to be just and true.

Page 19, ver. 493. 12 Cicero himself describes this
fact — " Csesare interfecto — statim cruentum alte ex-
tollens M. Brutus pugionem, Ciceronem nominatim
exclamavit, atque ei recuperatam libertatem est gratu-
latus." Cic. Philipp. ii. 12.

Page 21, ver. 550. 13 According to the opinion of
those who assert moral obligation to be founded on an
immutable and universal law ; and that pathetic feeling
which is usually called the moral sense, to be determined
by the peculiar temper of the imagination and the
earliest associations of ideas.

Page 22, ver. 591. u The school of Aristotle.

Page 22, ver. 592. 15 The school of Plato.

Page 22, ver. 594. 13 One of the rivers on which
Athens was situated. Plato, in some of his finest
dialogues, lays the scene of the conversation with
Socrates on its banks.

NOTES ON BOOK II.

Page 24, Ver. 19. l About the age of Hugh Capet,
founder of the third race of French kings, the poets of
Provence were in high reputation ; a sort of strolling-
bards or rhapsodists, who went about the courts of
princes and noblemen, entertaining them at festivals
with music and poetry. They attempted both the epic,
ode, and satire ; and abounded in a wild fantastic vein
of fable, partly allegorical, and partly founded on tra-
ditionary legends of the Saracen wars. These were
the rudiments of Italian poetry. But their taste and
composition must have been extremely barbarous, as
we may judge by those who followed the turn of their
fable in much politer times ; such as Boiardo, Bernardo,
Tasso, Ariosto, &c.

Page 24, ver. 21. 2 The famous retreat of Francesco
Petrarcha, the father of Italian poetry, and his mistress
Laura, a lady of Avignon.

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 7i

Page 24, ver. 22. 3 The river which runs by Flo-
rence, the birth-place of Dante and Boccaccio.

Page 24, ver. 23. 4 Or Naples, the birth-place of
Sannazaro. The great Torquato Tasso was born at
Sorrento, in the kingdom of Naples.

Page 24, ver. 24. 3 This relates to the cruel wars
among the republics of Italy, and abominable politics
of its little princes, about the fifteenth century. These,
at last, in conjunction with the papal power, entirely
extinguished the spirit of liberty in that country, and
established that abuse of the fine arts which has been
since propagated over all Europe.

Page 24, ver, 31. 6 Nor were they only losers by
the separation. For philosophy itself, to use the words
of a noble philosopher, " being thus severed from the
sprightly arts and sciences, must consequently grow
dronish, insipid, pedantic, useless, and directly opposite
to the real knowledge and practice of the world. "
Insomuch that " a gentleman," says another excellent
writer, " cannot easily bring himself to like so austere
and ungainly a form : so greatly is it changed from
what was once the delight of the finest gentlemen of
antiquity, and their recreation after the hurry of
public affairs ! " From this condition it cannot be
recovered but by uniting it once more with the works
of imagination ; and we have had the pleasure of ob-
serving a very great progress made towards their
union in England, within these few years. It is hardly
possible to conceive them at a greater distance from
each other than at the Revolution, when Locke stood
at the head of one party, and Dryden of the other.
But the general spirit of liberty, which has ever since
been growing, naturally invited our men of wit and
genius to improve that influence which the arts of
persuasion gave them with the people, by applying
them to subjects of importance to society. Thus
poetry and eloquence became considerable ; and phi-
losophy is now of course obliged to borrow of their
embellishments, in order even to gain audience with
the public.

72 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF

Page 27, ver. 158. 7 This very mysterious kind of
pleasure, which is often found in the exercise of passions
generally counted painful, has been taken notice of by
several authors. Lucretius resolves it into self-love :

Suave mari magno, &c. lib, ii. 1.
As if a man was never pleased in being moved at the
distress of a tragedy, without a cool reflection that
though these fictitious personages were so unhappy,
yet he himself was perfectly at ease and in safety. The
ingenious author of the " Reflections Critiques sur la
Poesie et sur la Peineture" accounts for it by the ge-
neral delight which the mind takes in its own activity,
and the abhorrence it feels of an indolent and inatten-
tive state : and this, joined with the moral applause
of its own temper, which attends these emotions when
natural and just, is certainly the true foundation of the
pleasure, which, as it is the origin and basis of tragedy
and epic, deserved a very particular consideration in
this poem.

Page 32, ver. 306. 8 The account of the economy of
providence here introduced, as the most proper to calm
and satisfy the mind when under the compunction of
private evils, seems to have come originally from the
Pythagorean school : but of all the ancient philosophers,
Plato has most largely insisted upon it, has established
it with all the strength of his capacious understanding,
and ennobled it with all the magnificence of his divine
imagination. He has one passage so full and clear on
this head, that I am persuaded the reader will be pleased
to see it here, though somewhat long. Addressing
himself to such as are not satisfied concerning Divine
Providence : " The Being who presides over the whole,"
says he, " has disposed and complicated all things for
the happiness and virtue of the whole, every part of
which, according to the extent of its influence, does
and suffers what is fit and proper. One of these parts
is yours, O unhappy man ! which, though in itself most
inconsiderable and minute, yet, being connected with
the universe, ever seeks to co-operate with that supreme
order. You, in the mean time, are ignorant of the very

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 73

end for which all particular natures are brought into
existence, — that the all-comprehending nature of the
whole may be perfect and happy ; existing, as it does,
not for your sake, but the cause and reason of your
existence, which, as in the symmetry of every artificial
work, must of necessity concur with the general design
of the artist, and be subservient to the whole of which
it is a part. Your complaint therefore is ignorant and
groundless ; since, according to the various energy of
creation, and the common laws of nature, there is a con-
stant provision of that which is best, at the same time, for
you and for the whole. For the governing intelligence
clearly beholding all the actions of animated and self-
moving creatures, and that mixture of good and evil
which diversifies them, considered first of all by what
disposition of things, and by what situation of each
individual in the general system, vice might be de-
pressed and subdued, and virtue made secure of victory
and happiness, with the greatest facility and in the
highest degree possible. In this manner he ordered,
through the entire circle of being, the internal consti-
tution of every mind ; where should be its station in the
universal fabric, and through what variety of circum-
stances it should proceed, in the whole tenor of its
existence. " He goes on in his sublime manner to
assert a future state of retribution, " as well for those
who, by the exercise of good dispositions, being har-
monized and assimilated into the divine virtue, are con-
sequently removed to a place of unblemished sanctity
and happiness ; as of those who by the most flagitious
arts have risen from contemptible beginnings to the
greatest affluence and power, and whom therefore you
look upon as unanswerable instances of negligence in
the gods, because you are ignorant of the purposes to
which they are subservient, and in what manner they
contribute to that supreme intention of good to the
whole." Plato de Leg. x. 16.

This theory has been delivered of late, especially
abroad, in a manner which subverts the freedom of
human actions ; whereas Plato appears very careful to

74 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF

preserve it, and has been, in that respect, imitated by
the best of his followers.

Page 32, ver. 322. 9 See the Meditations of Antoninus
and the Characteristics, passim.

Page 32, ver. 335. 10 This opinion is so old, that
TimaBus Locrus calls the Supreme Being h]}xispybQ rS
(SsXtiovoq — the artificer of that which is best ; and re-
presents him as resolving in the beginning to produce
the most excellent work, and as copying the world
most exactly from his own intelligible and essential
idea ; " so that it yet remains, as it was at first, perfect
in beauty, and will never stand in need of any correction
or improvement." There is no room for a caution
here, to understand these expressions, not of any par-
ticular circumstances of human life separately con-
sidered, but of the sum or universal system of life and
being. See also the vision at the end of the Theodicee
of Leibnitz.

Page 33, ver. 351. n This opinion, though not held
by Plato, nor any of the ancients, is yet a very natural
consequence of his principles. But the disquisition is
too complex and extensive to be entered upon here.

Page 43, ver. 726. 12 The reader wrill here naturally
recollect the fate of the sacred battalion of Thebes,
which at the battle of Chseronea was utterly destroyed,
every man being found lying dead by his friend.

Page 44, ver, 755. 13 The Macedonian,

NOTES ON BOOK III.

Page 47, Ver. 22. l The influence of the imagination
on the conduct of life, is one of the most important
points in moral philosophy. It were easy by an in-
duction of facts to prove that the imagination directs
almost all the passions, and mixes with almost every
circumstance of action or pleasure. Let any man, even
of the coldest head and soberest industry, analyze the
idea of what he calls his interest 5 he will find, that it
consists chiefly of certain images of decency, beauty,

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 75

and order, variously combined into one system, the
idol which he seeks to enjoy by labour, hazard, and
self-denial. It is on this account of the last consequence
to regulate these images by the standard of nature
and the general good ; otherwise the imagination, by
heightening some objects beyond their real excellence
and beauty, or by representing others in a more odious
or terrible shape than they deserve, may of course
engage us in pursuits utterly inconsistent with the
moral order of things.

If it be objected, that this account of things supposes
the passions to be merely accidental, whereas there
appears in some a natural and hereditary disposition
to certain passions prior to all circumstances of educa-
tion or fortune : it may be answered, that though no
man is born ambitious, or a miser, yet he may inherit
from his parents a peculiar temper or complexion of
mind, which shall render his imagination more liable to
be struck with some particular objects ; consequently
dispose him to form opinions of good and ill, and enter-
tain passions of a particular turn. Some men, for
instance, by the original frame of their minds, are
more delighted with the vast and magnificent, others
on the contrary with the elegant and gentle aspects of
nature. And it is very remarkable, that the disposition
of the moral powers is always similar to this of the
imagination : that those who are most inclined to ad-
mire prodigious and sublime objects in the physical
world, are also most inclined to applaud examples of
fortitude and heroic virtue in the moral. While those
who are charmed rather with the delicacy and sweet-
ness of colours, and forms, and sounds, never fail, in
like manner, to yield the preference to the softer scenes
of virtue and the sympathies of a domestic life. And
this is sufficient to account for the objection.

Among the ancient philosophers, though we have
several hints concerning this influence of the imagina-
tion upon morals among the remains of the Socratic
school, yet the Stoics were the first who paid it a due
attention. Zeno, their founder, thought it impossible

76 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF

to preserve any tolerable regularity in life, without
frequently inspecting those pictures or appearances of
things, which the imagination offers to the mind (Diog.
Laert. I. xii.). The meditations of M. Aurelius, and
the discourses of Epictetus, are full of the same senti-
ments ; insomuch that the latter makes the Xprjmg ola
del, (pavTaGiujv, or right management of the fancies, the
only thing for which we are accountable to Providence,
and without which a man is no other than stupid or
frantic. Arrian. /. i. c. 12. and /. ii. c. 22. See also
the Characteristics, voL i. from p. 313 to 321, where this
Stoical doctrine is embellished with all the eloquence of
the graces of Plato.

Page 48, ver. 76. 2 Notwithstanding the general
influence of ridicule on private and civil life, as well as
on learning and the sciences, it has been almost con-
stantly neglected or misrepresented, by divines espe-
cially. The manner of treating these subjects in the
science of human nature, should be precisely the same
as in natural philosophy ; from particular facts to in-
vestigate the stated order in which they appear, and
then apply the general law, thus discovered, to the
explication of other appearances and the improvement
of useful arts.

Page 49, ver, 84. 3 The first and most general
source of ridicule in the characters of men, is vanity,
or self applause for some desirable quality or possession,
which evidently does not belong to those who assume it.
• Page 50, ver. 121. 4 Ridicule from the same vanity,
where, though the possession be real, yet no merit can
arise from it, because of some particular circumstances,
which, though obvious to the spectator, are yet over-
looked by the ridiculous character.

Page 5 1 , ver. 1 52. 5 Ridicule from a notion of excel-
lence in particular objects disproportioned to their
intrinsic value, and inconsistent with the order of
nature.

Page 51, ver. 179. 6 Akenside is supposed to have
satirised Richard Dawes, Master of the Newcastle
Grammar School, and author of Miscellanea Critica.

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 77

Page 52, ver. 191. 7 Ridicule from a notion of ex-
cellence, when the object is absolutely odious or con-
temptible. This is the highest degree of the ridicu-
lous 5 as in the affectation of diseases or vices.

Page 52, ver. 209. 8 Ridicule from false shame or
groundless fear.

Page 53, ver. 229. 9 Ridicule from the ignorance of
such things as our circumstances require us to know.

Page 54, ver. 258 10 By comparing these general
sources of ridicule with each other, and examining the
ridiculous in other objects, w7e may obtain a general
definition of it, equally applicable to every species.
The most important circumstance of this definition is
laid down in the lines referred to ; but others more
minute we shall subjoin here. Aristotle's account of
the matter seems both imperfect and false ; rd yap
yeXoTov, says he, l^\v a\idoTi}\xa tl tCj atcr^oc, clvlocvvov
k} g' <p9apTiic6v : " the ridiculous is some certain fault
or turpitude, without pain, and not destructive to its
subject," (Poet, c. 5.) Por allowing it to be true, as it
is not, that the ridiculous is never accompanied with
pain, yet we might produce many instances of such a
fault or turpitude which cannot with any tolerable
propriety be called ridiculous. So that the definition
does not distinguish the thing designed. Nay farther ;
even when we perceive the turpitude tending to the
destruction of its subject, we may still be sensible of a
ridiculous appearance, till the ruin become imminent,
and the keener sensations of pity or terror banish the
ludicrous apprehension from our minds. For the
sensation of ridicule is not a bare perception of the
agreement or disagreement of ideas ; but a passion or
amotion of the mind consequential to that perception.
So that the mind may perceive the agreement or dis-
agreement, and yet not feel the ridiculous, because it
is engrossed by a more violent emotion. Thus it
happens that some men think those objects ridiculous,
to which others cannot endure to apply the name 5
because in them they excite a much intenser and more
important feeling. And this difference, among other

78 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF

causes, has brought a good deal of confusion into this
question.

;; That which makes objects ridiculous, is some
ground of admiration or esteem connected with other
more general circumstances comparatively worthless
or deformed ; or it is some circumstance of turpitude
or deformity connected with what is in general excellent
or beautiful; the inconsistent properties existing
either in the objects themselves, or in the apprehension
of the person to whom they relate 5 belonging always
to the same order or class of being ; implying sentiment
or design ; and exciting no acute or vehement emotion
of the heart."

To prove the several parts of this definition : " The
appearance of excellence or beauty, connected with a
general condition comparatively sordid or deformed,' '
is ridiculous : for instance, pompous pretensions of
wisdom joined with ignorance or folly, in the Socrates
of Aristophanes ; and the applause of military glory
with cowardice and stupidity in the Thraso of Terence.

' The appearance of deformity, or turpitude, in con-
junction with what is in general excellent or vener-
able,5' is also ridiculous : for instance, the personal
weaknesses of a magistrate appearing in the solemn
and public functions of his station.

" The incongruous properties may either exist in
the objects themselves, or in apprehension of the per-
son to whom they relate : " in the last-mentioned in-
stance, they both exist in the objects 5 in the instances
from Aristophanes and Terence, one of them is ob-
jective and real, the other only founded in the appre-
hension of the ridiculous character,

" The inconsistent properties must belong to the
same order or class of being." A coxcomb in fine
clothes, bedaubed by accident in foul weather, is a
ridiculous object 5 because his general apprehension of
excellence and esteem is referred to the splendour and
expense of his dress. A man of sense and merit, in
the same circumstances, is not counted ridiculous :
because the general ground of excellence and esteem

IMAGINATION. BOOK III, 79

in him is, both in fact and in his own apprehension, of
a very different species.

" Every ridiculous object implies sentiment or
design." A column placed by an architect without a
capital or base, is laughed at : the same column in a
ruin causes a very different sensation.

And lastly, " the occurrence must excite no acute
or vehement emotion of the heart/"5 such as terror,
pity, or indignation; for in that case, as was observed
above, the mind is not at leisure to contemplate the
ridiculous.

Whether any appearance not ridiculous be involved
in this description, and whether it comprehend every
species and form of the ridiculous, must be determined
by repeated applications of it to particular instances.

Page 54, ver. 262. u Since it is beyond all contra-
diction evident that we have a natural sense or feeling
of the ridiculous, and since so good a reason may be
assigned to justify the Supreme Being for bestowing
it; one cannot, without astonishment, reflect on the
conduct of those men who imagine it is for the service
of true religion to vilify and blacken it without distinc-
tion, and endeavour to persuade us that it is never
applied but in a bad cause. Ridicule is not concerned
with mere speculative truth or falsehood. It is not in
abstract propositions or theorems, but in actions and
passions, good and evil, beauty and deformity, that we
find materials for it ; and all these terms are relative,
implying approbation or blame. To ask then, whether
ridicule be a test of truth, is, in other words, to ask
whether that which is ridiculous can be morally true,
can be just and becoming ; or whether that which is
just and becoming, can be ridiculous. A question that
does not deserve a serious answer. For it is most
evident, that, as in a metaphysical proposition offered
to the understanding for its assent, the faculty of
reason examines the terms of the proposition, and
finding one idea, which was supposed equal to another,
to be in fact unequal, of consequence rejects the pro-
position as a falsehood ; so, in objects offered to the

80 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF

mind for its esteem or applause, the faculty of ridicule,
finding an incongruity in the claim, urges the mind to
reject it with laughter and contempt. When, there-
fore, we observe such a claim obtruded upon mankind,
and the inconsistent circumstances carefully concealed
from the eye of the public, it is our business, if the
matter be of importance to society, to drag out those
latent circumstances, and, by setting them in full view,
to convince the world how ridiculous the claim is ; and
thus a double advantage is gained 5 for we both detect
the moral falsehood sooner than in the way of specu-
lative enquiry, and impress the minds of men with a
stronger sense of the vanity and error of its authors.
And this and no more is meant by the application of
ridicule.

But it is said, the practice is dangerous, and may be
inconsistent with the regard we owe to objects of real
dignity and excellence. I answer, the practice, fairly
managed, can never be dangerous ; men may be dis-
honest in obtruding circumstances foreign to the object,
and we may be inadvertent in allowing those circum-
stances to impose upon us : but the sense of ridicule
always judges right. The Socrates of Aristophanes is
as truly ridiculous a character as ever was drawn : —
true ; but it is not the character of Socrates, the divine
moralist and father of ancient wisdom. What then?
did the ridicule of the poet hinder the philosopher from
detecting and disclaiming those foreign circumstances
which he had falsely introduced into his character,
and thus rendered the satirist doubly ridiculous in his
turn ? No ; but it nevertheless had an ill influence on
the minds of the people. And so has the reasoning of
Spinoza made many atheists : he has founded it indeed
on suppositions utterly false ; but allow him these, and
his conclusions are unavoidably true. And if we must
reject the use of ridicule, because, by the imposition
of false circumstances, things may be made to seem
ridiculous, which are not so in themselves 3 why we
ought not in the same manner to reject the use of
reason, because, by proceeding on false principles, con-
clusions will appear true which are impossible in

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 81

nature, let the vehement and obstinate declaimers
against ridicule determine.

Page 54, ver. 286. 12 This similitude is the founda-
tion of almost all the ornaments of poetic diction.

Page 56, ver. 329. 13 See the elegant poem recited
by Cardinal Bembo in the character of Lucretius;
Strada Prolus. vi. ; Academ. ii. c. v.

Page 56, ver. 350. H The act of remembering seems
almost wholly to depend on the association of ideas.

Page 58, ver. 412. 13 This relates to the different
sorts of corporeal mediums, by which the ideas of the
artists are rendered palpable to the senses; as by
Sonne's, in music 5 by lines and shadows, in painting ;
by aiction, in poetry, &c.

Page 62, ver. 548. 16 See the note to ver. 22 of
this book.

Page 62, ver. 558. 17

Oh ! how I long my careless limbs to lay
Under the plantane shade ; and all the day
With amorous airs my fancy entertain, &c.

Waller, Battle of the Summer -Islands, Canto I.
And again,

While in the park I sing, the list'ning deer
Attend my passion, and forget to fear, &c.

At Penshurst.
Page 63, ver. 598. 18 That this account may not
appear rather poetically extravagant than Justin philo-
sophy, it may be proper to produce the sentiment of
one of the greatest, wisest, and best of men on this
article ; one so little to be suspected of partiality in the
case, that he reckons it among those favours for which
he was especially thankful to the gods, that they had
not suffered him to make any great proficiency in the
arts of eloquence and poetry, lest by that means he
should have been diverted from pursuits of more im-
portance to his high station. Speaking of the beauty
of universal nature, he observes, that there " is a
pleasing and graceful aspect in every object we per-
ceive,5' when once we consider its connection with
that general order. He instances in many things

S2

NOTES ON BOOK III.

which at first sight would be thought rather deformi-
ties ; and then adds, " that a man who enjoys a sensi-
bility of temper with a just comprehension of the
universal order — will discern many amiable things,
not credible to every mind, but to those alone who
have entered into an honourable familiarity with nature
and her works."

M. Antonin. iii. 2.

THE

PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION.

A POEM.

GENERAL ARGUMENT.

£HE pleasures of the imagination proceed
either from natural objects, as from a
flourishing grove, a clear and murmuring
fountain, a calm sea by moonlight ; or from
works of art, such as a noble edifice, a musical tune, a
statue, a picture, a poem. In treating of these plea-
sures, we must begin with the former class 5 they
being original to the other ; and nothing more being
necessary, in order to explain them, than a view of our
natural inclination toward greatness and beauty, and
of those appearances, in the world around us, to which
that inclination is adapted. This is the subject of the
first book of the following poem.

But the pleasures which we receive from the elegant
arts, from music, sculpture, painting, and poetry, are
much more various and complicated. In them (besides
greatness and beauty, or forms proper to the imagina-
tion) we find interwoven frequent representations of
truth, of virtue and vice, of circumstances proper to
move us with laughter, or to excite in us pity, fear,
and the other passions. These moral and intellectual
objects are described in the second book ; to which the
third properly belongs as an episode, though too large
to have been included in it.

With the above-mentioned causes of pleasure, which

84 THE PLEASURES OF THE

are universal in the course of human life, and appertain
to our higher faculties, many others do generally con-
cur, more limited in their operation, or of an inferior
origin : such are the novelty of objects, the association
of ideas, affections of the bodily senses, influences of
education, national habits, and the like. To illustrate
these, and from the whole to determine the character
of a perfect taste, is the argument of the fourth book.
Hitherto the pleasures of the imagination belong to
the human species in general. But there are certain
particular men whose imagination is endowed with
powers, and susceptible of pleasures, which the gene-
rality of mankind never participate. These are the
men of genius, destined by nature to excel in one or
other of the arts already mentioned. It is proposed
therefore, in the last place, to delineate that genius
which in some degree appears common to them all;
yet with a more peculiar consideration of poetry :
inasmuch as poetry is the most extensive of those arts,
the most philosophical, and the most useful.

BOOK I. 1757.

ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed. Dedication. The ideas of the
Supreme Being, the exemplars of all things. The
variety of constitution in the minds of men 5 with its
final cause. The general character of a fine imagina-
tion. All the immediate pleasures of the human ima-
gination proceed either from Greatness or Beauty in
external objects. The pleasure from Greatness ; with
its final cause. The natural connection of Beauty with
truth* and good. The different orders of Beauty in

Truth is here taken, not in a logical, but in a
mixed and popular sense, or for what has been called
the truth of things ; denoting as well their natural and
regular condition, as a proper estimate or judgment
concerning them.

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 80

different objects. The infinite and all-comprehending
form of Beauty, which belongs to the Divine Mind.
The partial and artificial forms of Beauty, which
belong to inferior intellectual beings. The origin and
general conduct of beauty in man. The subordination
of local beauties to the beauty of the Universe. Con-
clusion.

JlTH what enchantment Nature's

goodly scene
Attracts the sense of mortals ; how

the mind,

For its own eye, doth objects nobler still
Prepare ; how men, by various lessons, learn
To judge of Beauty's praise ; what raptures fill
The breast with fancy's native arts endowed,
And what true culture guides it to renown ;
My verse unfolds. Ye gods, or godlike powers,
Ye guardians of the sacred task, attend,
Propitious. Hand in hand, around your bard 10
Move in majestic measures, leading on
His doubtful step through many a solemn path,
Conscious of secrets which, to human sight,
Ye only can reveal. Be great in him :
And let your favour make him wise to speak
Of all your wondrous empire, with a voice
So tempered to his theme, that those, who hear,
May yield perpetual homage to yourselves.
Thou chief, O daughter of eternal Love !
"Whate'er thy name ; or Muse, or Grace, adored
By Grecian prophets ; to the sons of Heaven 21
Known, while with deep amazement thou dost
The perfect counsels read, the ideas old, [therec
Of thine omniscient Father ; known on earth
By the still horror and the blissful tear
With which thou seizest on the soul of man ;
Thou chief, Poetic Spirit ! from the banks

86 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Of Avon, whence thy holy fingers cull

Fresh flowers and dews, to sprinkle on the turf

Where Shakespeare lies, be present. And with

thee 3o

Let Fiction come ; on her aerial wings
Wafting ten thousand colours ; which, in sport,
By the light glances of her magic eye,
She blends and shifts at will thro' countless forms, —
Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre !
Whose awful tones control the moving sphere,
Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend,
And join this happy train ? for with thee comes
The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites,
Wise Order : and, where Order deigns to come,
Her sister, Liberty, will not be far. 41

Be present all ye Genii, who conduct,
Of youthful bards, the lonely-wandering step,
New to your springs and shades ; who touch their

ear
With finer sounds, and heighten to their eye
The pomp of nature, and before them place
The fairest, loftiest countenance of things.
'Nor thou, my Dyson, to the lay refuse
Thy wonted partial audience. What, though first
In years unseasoned, haply ere the sports 50

Of childhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay,
With many splendid prospects, many charms,
Allured my heart, nor conscious whence they

sprung,
ISTor heedful of their end ? yet serious Truth
Her empire o'er the calm, sequestered theme
Asserted soon ; while Falsehood's evil brood,
Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once
Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil
Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid
Thy friendship added, in the paths of life, 60

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 87

The busy paths, my unaccustomed feet
Preserving : nor to Truth's recess divine,
Through this wide argument's unbeaten space,
Withholding surer guidance ; while, by turns,
We traced the sages old, or while the queen
Of sciences (whom manners and the mind
Acknowledge) to my true companion's voice
Not unattentive, o'er the wintry lamp
Inclined her sceptre, favouring. Now the Fates
Have other tasks imposed : — to thee, my friend,
The ministry of freedom and the faith 71

Of popular decrees, in early youth,
Not vainly they committed : me they sent
To wait on pain ; and silent arts to urge,
Inglorious : not ignoble ; if my cares,
To such as languish on a grievous bed,
Ease and the sweet forgetfulness of ill
Conciliate : nor delightless ; if the Muse,
Her shades to visit and to taste her springs,
If some distinguished hours the bounteous Muse
Impart, and grant (what she, and she alone bi
Can grant to mortals) that my hand those wreaths
Of fame and honest favour, which the blessed
Wear in Elysium, and which never felt
The breath of envy or malignant tongues,
That these my hand, for thee and for myself
May gather. Meanwhile, Oh, my faithful friend,
Oh, early chosen, ever found the same,
And trusted and beloved ; once more the verse
Long destined, always obvious to thine ear, 90
Attend, indulgent : so in latest years,
When time thy head with honours shall have
Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind, [clothed,
Amid the calm review of seasons past,
Fair offices of friendship, or kind peace,
Or public zeal, may then thy mind, well-pleased,

88 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Recall these happy studies of our prime.

From Heaven my strains begin : from Heaven
descends
The flame of genius to the chosen breast,
And beauty with poetic wonder joined, 100

And inspiration. Ere the rising sun
Shone o'er the deep, or 'mid the vault of night
The moon her silver lamp suspended : ere
The vales with springs were watered, or with groves
Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crowned ;
Then the Great Spirit, whom his works adore,
Within his own deep essence viewed the forms,
The forms eternal of created things :
The radiant sun ; the moon's nocturnal lamp ; 109
The mountains and the streams ; the ample stores
Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the first,
On that full scene his love divine he fixed,
His admiration ; till, in time complete,
What he admired and loved, his vital power
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame :
Hence the green earth, and wild-resounding waves :
Hence light and shade, alternate ; warmth and cold ;
And bright autumnal skies, and vernal showers,
And all the fair variety of things. 120

But not alike to every mortal eye
Is this great scene unveiled. For, while the claims
Of social life to different labours urge
The active powers of man, with wisest care
Hath Nature on the multitude of minds
Impressed a various bias ; and to each
Decreed its province in the common toil.
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,
The golden zones of heaven : to some she gave
To search the story of eternal thought ; isi

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 89

Of space, and time ; of fate's unbroken chain,
And will's quick movement : others by the hand
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore
What healing virtue dwells in every vein
Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes
Were destined : some within a finer mould
She wrought, and tempered with a purer flame.
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds,
In fuller aspects and with fairer lights, 140

This picture of the world. Through every part
They trace the lofty sketches of his hand :
In earth, or air, the meadow's flowery store,
The moon's mild radiance, o'er the virgin's mien,
Dressed in attractive smiles, they see portrayed
(As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan)
Those lineaments of beauty which delight
The Mind Supreme. They also feel their force ;
Enamoured, they partake the eternal joy.

For, as old Memnon's image, long renowned i5o
Through fabling Egypt, at the genial touch
Of morning, from its inmost frame sent forth
Spontaneous music ; so doth Nature's hand,
To certain attributes which matter claims,
Adapt the finer organs of the mind :
So the glad impulse of those kindred powers
(Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound
Melodious, or of motion aptly sped)
Detains the enlivened sense ; till soon the soul
Feels the deep concord, and assents through all
Her functions. Then the charm by fate prepared
Diffuseth its enchantment. Fancy dreams,
Rapt into high discourse with prophets old,
And wandering through Elysium, Fancy dreams
Of sacred fountains, of o'ershadowing groves,
Whose walks with godlike harmony resound :
Fountains, which Homer visits ; happy groves,

90 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Where Milton dwells : the intellectual power,
On the mind's throne, suspends his graver cares,
And smiles : the passions, to divine repose, 170
Persuaded yield : and love and joy alone
Are waking : love and joy, such as await
An angel's meditation. Oh! attend,
Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch ;
Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb
Can thus command ; Oh ! listen to my song ;
And I will guide thee to her blissful walks,
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her gracious features to thy view.

Know then, what e'er of the world's ancient store,
Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected scenes, isi

With love and admiration thus inspire
Attentive Fancy, her delighted sons
In two illustrious orders comprehend,
Self-taught : from him whose rustic toil the lark
Cheers warbling, to the bard whose daring thoughts
Eange the full orb of being, still the form
Which fancy worships, or sublime or fair
Her votaries proclaim. I see them dawn :
I see the radiant visions where they rise, 190

More lovely than when Lucifer displays
His glittering forehead through the gates of morn,
To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring.

Say, why was man so eminently raised
Amid the vast creation ? why impowered
Through life and death to dart his watchful eye,
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame?
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth,
In sight of angels and immortal minds,
As on an ample theatre, to join coo

In contest with his equals, who shall best
The task achieve, the course of noble toils,
By wisdom and by mercy preordained.

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 91

Might send him forth the sovereign good to learn ;
To chase each meaner purpose from his breast ;
And through the mists of passion and of sense,
And thro' the pelting storms of chance and pain,
To hold straight on with constant heart, and eye
Still fixed upon his everlasting palm, [burns

The approving smile of Heaven. Else wherefore
In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, 211

That seeks from day to day sublimer ends ;
Happy, though restless ? "Why departs the soul
Wide from the track and journey of her times,
To grasp the good she knows not ? In the field
Of things which may be, in the spacious field
Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms,
To raise up scenes in which her own desires
Contented may repose ; when things, which are,
Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale : 220
Her temper, still demanding to be free ;
Spurning the rude control of wilful might ;
Proud of her dangers braved, her griefs endured,
Her strength severely proved ? To these high aims,
Which reason and affection prompt in man,
Not adverse nor unapt hath nature framed
His bold imagination. For, amid
The various forms which this full world presents,
Like rivals to his choice, what human breast
E'er doubts, before the transient and minute, c.30
To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime ?
Who, that from heights aerial sends his eye
Around a wild horizon, and surveys
Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave
Through mountains, plains, thro' spacious cities old,
And regions dark with woods, will turn away
To mark the path of some penurious rill
Winch murmureth at his feet ? Where does the
Consent her soaring fancy to restrain, [soul

92 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Which bears her up, as on an eagle's wings, 240
Destined for highest heaven ? or which of fate's
Tremendous barriers shall confine her flight
To any humbler quarry ? The rich earth
Cannot detain her ; nor the ambient air,
With all its changes. For a while with joy
She hovers o'er the sun, and views the small
Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam,
Emerging from the deep, like clustered isles
Whose rocky shores to the glad sailor's eye
Reflect the gleams of morning : for a while 250
With pride she sees his firm, paternal sway
Bend the reluctant planets to move each
Round its perpetual year. But soon she quits
That prospect : meditating loftier views,
She darts adventurous up the long career
Of comets ; through the constellations holds
Her course, and now looks back on all the stars,
Whose blended flames as with a milky stream
Part the blue region. Empyrean tracts,
Where happy souls beyond this concave heaven
Abide, she then explores, whence purer light 261
For countless ages travels through the abyss,
Nor hath in sight of mortals yet arrived.
Upon the wide creation's utmost shore
At length she stands, and the dread space beyond
Contemplates, half-recoiling : nathless down
The gloomy void, astonished, yet unquelled,
She plungeth ; down the unfathomable gulf
Where God alone hath being. There her hopes
Rest at the fated goal. For, from the birth 270
Of human kind, the Sovereign Maker said,
That not in humble, nor in brief delight,
ISTot in the fleeting echoes of renown,
Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap,
The soul should find contentment ; but, from these

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 93

Turning disdainful to an equal good,
Through Nature's opening walks enlarge her aim,
Till every bound at length should disappear,
And infinite perfection fill the scene.

But lo, where Beauty, dressed in gentler pomp,
With comely steps advancing, claims the verse
Her charms inspire. 0 Beauty ! source of praise,
Of honour, even to mute and lifeless things ;
O thou that kindlest in each human heart
Love, and the wish of poets, when their tongue
Would teach to other bosoms what so charms
Their own ; O child of Xature and the soul !
In happiest hour brought forth ; the doubtful garb
Of words, of earthly language, all too mean,
Too lowly I account, in which to clothe 290

Thy form divine : for thee the mind alone
Beholds ; nor half thy brightness can reveal
Through those dim organs, whose corporeal touch
O'ershadoweth thy pure essence. Yet, my Muse,
If Fortune call thee to the task, wait thou
Thy favourable seasons : then, while fear
And doubt are absent, thro' wide nature's bounds
Expatiate with glad step, and choose at will
Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,
Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air, 300

To manifest unblemished Beauty's praise,
And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend
Her gracious empire. Wilt thou to the isles
Atlantic, to the rich Hesperian clime,
Fly in the train of Autumn, and look on,
. And learn from him ; while, as he roves around,
Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,
The branches bloom with gold ; where'er his foot-
Imprints the soil, the ripening clusters swell,
Turning aside their foliage, and come forth 310
In purple lights, till every hillock glows

94 THE PLEASURES OF THE

As with the blushes of an evening sky ?
Or wilt thou that Thessalian landscape trace,
Where slow Peneus his clear glassy tide
Draws smooth along, between the winding cliffs
Of Ossa, and the pathless woods unshorn
That wave o'er huge Olympus ? Down the stream,
Look how the mountains with their double range
Embrace the vale of Tempe : from each side
Ascending steep to heaven, a rocky mound 320
Covered with ivy and the laurel boughs
That crowned young Phoebus for the Python slain.
Fair Tempe ! on whose primrose banks the morn
Awoke most fragrant, and the noon reposed
In pomp of lights and shadows most sublime :
Whose lawns, whose glades, ere human footsteps yet
Had traced an entrance, were the hallowed haunt
Of sylvan powers immortal : where they sate
Oft in the golden age, the Nymphs and Fauns,
Beneath some harbour branching o'er the flood, 330
And, leaning round, hung on the instructive lips
Of hoary Pan, or o'er some open dale
Danced in light measures to his sevenfold pipe,
While Zephyr's wanton hand along their path
Flung showers of painted blossoms, fertile dews,
And one perpetual spring. But if our task
More lofty rites demand, with all good vows
Then let us hasten to the rural haunt
Where young Melissa dwells. Nor thou refuse
The voice which calls thee from thy loved retreat ,
But hither, gentle maid, thy footsteps turn : 311
Here, to thy own unquestionable theme,
O fair, O graceful, bend thy polished brow,
Assenting ; and the gladness of thy eyes
Impart to me, like morning's wished light
Seen through the vernal air. By yonder stream,
Where beech and elm along the bordering mead

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 95

Send forth wild melody from every bough,
Together let us wander ; where the hills,
Covered with fleeces to the lowing vale 350

Reply ; where tidings of content and peace
Each echo brings. Lo, how the western sun
O'er fields and floods, o'er every living soul,
DhTuseth glad repose ! There, while I speak
Of Beauty's honours, thou, Melissa, thou
Shalt hearken, not unconscious, while I tell
How first from Heaven she came : how after all
The works of life, the elemental scenes,
The hours, the seasons, she had oft explored,
At length her favourite mansion and her throne
She fixed in woman's form : what pleasing ties 361
To virtue bind her ; what effectual aid
They lend each other's power ; and how divine
Their union, should some unambitious maid,
To all the enchantment of the Idalian queen,
Add sanctity and wisdom. While my tongue
Prolongs the tale, Melissa, thou may'st feign
To wonder whence my rapture is inspired ;
But soon the smile which dawns upon thy lip
Shall tell it, and the tenderer bloom o'er all 370
That soft cheek springing to the marble neck,
Which bends aside in vain, revealing more
What it would thus keep silent, and in vain
The sense of praise dissembling. Then my song
Great Nature's winning arts, which thus inform
With joy and love the rugged breast of man,
Should sound in numbers worthy such a theme !
While all whose souls have ever felt the force
Of those enchanting passions, to my lyre
Should throng attentive, and receive once more
Their influence, unobscured by any cloud 381
Of vulgar care, and purer than the hand
Of Fortune can bestow : nor, to confirm

96 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Their sway, should awful Contemplation scorn
To join his dictates to the genuine strain
Of Pleasure's tongue ; nor yet should Pleasure's
Be much averse. Ye chiefly, gentle band [ear
Of youths and virgins, who through many a wish,
And many a fond pursuit, as in some scene
Of magic bright and fleeting, are allured 3yo

By various Beauty ; if the pleasing toil
Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn
Your favourable ear, and trust my words.
I do not mean, on blessed Religion's seat
Presenting Superstition's gloomy form,
To dash your soothing hopes : I do not mean
To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,
Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth,
And scare you from your joys. My cheerful song
With happier omens calls you to the field, 400
Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase,
And warm like you. Then tell me (for ye know)
Doth Beauty ever deign to dwell where use
And aptitude are strangers ? is her praise
Confessed in aught whose most peculiar ends
Are lame and fruitless ? or did Nature mean
This pleasing call, the herald of a lie,
To hide the shame of discord and disease,
And win each fond admirer into snares,
Foiled, baffled ? "No : — with better providence 410
The general mother, conscious how infirm
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,
Thus, to the choice of credulous desire,
Doth objects the completest of their tribe
Distinguish and commend. Yon flowery bank
Clothed in the soft magnificence of Spring,
Will not the flocks approve it ? will they ask
The reedy fen for pasture ? That clear rill
Which trickleth murmuring from the mossy rock,

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 97

Yields it less wholesome beverage to the worn 420
And thirsty traveller, than the standing pool
With muddy weeds o'ergrown ? Yon ragged vine,
Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn the rage
Of Eurus, will the wine-press or the bowl
Keport of her, as of the swelling grape
Which glitters through the tendrils, like a gem
When first it meets the sun ? Or what are all
The various charms to life and sense adjoined ?
Are they not pledges of a state entire,
Where native order reigns, with every part 430
In health, and every function well performed ?

Thus then at first was Beauty sent from Heaven,
The lovely ministress of Truth and Good
In this dark world : for Truth and Good are one ;
And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her,
With like participation. Wherefore then,
O sons of earth, would ye dissolve the tie ?
Oh ! wherefore, with a rash and greedy aim,
Seek ye to rove through every flattering scene
Which Beauty seems to deck, nor once inquire
Where is the suffrage of eternal Truth, 441

Or where the seal of undeceitful good,
To save your search from folly ? Wanting these,
Lo ! Beauty withers in your void embrace ;
And with the glittering of an idiot's toy
Did fancy mock your vows. Nor yet let hope,
That kindliest inmate of the youthful breast,
Be hence appalled ; be turned to coward sloth,
Sitting in silence, with dejected eyes
Injurious, and with folded hands : far less 450
Let scorn of wild fantastic folly's dreams,
Or hatred of the bigot's savage pride,
Persuade you e'er that Beauty, or the love
Which waits on Beauty, may not brook to hear
The sacred lore of undeceitful good

98 THE PLEASURES OF THE

And Truth eternal. From the vulgar crowd,
Though Superstition, tyranness abhorred,
The reverence due to this majestic pair
With threats and execration still demands ;
Though the tame wretch, who asks of her the way
To their celestial dwelling, she constrains 46i

To quench, or set at nought, the lamp of God
Within his frame ; through many a cheerless wild,
Though forth she leads him, credulous, and dark,
And awed with dubious notion ; though at length
Haply she plunge him into cloistered cells,
And mansions unrelenting as the grave,
But void of quiet ; there to watch the hours
Of midnight ; there, amid the screaming owl's
Dire song, with spectres or with guilty shades, 4*0
To talk of pangs and everlasting woe ;
Yet be not ye dismayed. A gentler star
Presides o'er your adventure. From the bower
Where Wisdom sat with her Athenian sons,
Could but my happy hand entwine a wreath
Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,
Then, (for what need of cruel fear to you,
To you whom godlike love can well command ?)
Then should my powerful voice at once dispel
Those monkish horrors ; should, in words divine,
Pelate how favoured minds like you inspired, 481
And taught their inspiration to conduct
By ruling Heaven's decree, through various walks
And prospects various, but delightful all,
Move onward ; while now myrtle groves appear,
]STow arms and radiant trophies, now the rods
Of empire, with the curule throne, or now
The domes of contemplation and the Muse.
Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye,
Through the fair toils and ornaments of earth, 490
Discerns the nobler life reserved for heaven ;

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 99

Favoured alike, they worship round the shrine
Where Truth, conspicuous with her sister-twins,
The undivided partners of her sway,
With Good and Beauty reigns. Oh ! let not us,
By Pleasure's lying blandishments detained,
Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage,
Oh ! let not us one moment pause to join
That chosen band. And if the gracious Power,
Who first awakened my untutored song, soo

Will to my invocation grant anew
The tuneful spirit, then, through all our paths,
Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre
Be wanting ; whether on the rosy mead
When Summer smiles, to warn the melting heart
Of Luxury's allurement ; whether, firm
Against the torrent and the stubborn hill,
To urge free Virtue's steps, and to her side
Summon that strong -divinity of soul
Which conquers Chance and Fate : or on the
height, mo

The goal assigned her, haply to proclaim
Her triumph ; on her brow to place the crown
Of uncorrupted praise ; through future worlds
To follow her interminated way,
And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man.

Such is the worth of Beauty ; such her power,
So blameless, so revered. It now remains,
In just gradation through the various ranks
Of being, to contemplate how her gifts
Bise in due measure, watchful to attend 5Q0

The steps of rising Nature. Last and least,
In colours mingling with a random blaze,
Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the forms
Of simplest, easiest measure ; in the bounds
Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent
To symmetry adds colour : thus the pearl

100 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Shines in the concave of its purple bed,
And painted shells along some winding shore
Catch with indented folds the glancing sun.
Next, as we rise, appear the blooming tribes [her
Which clothe the fragrant earth ; which draw from
Their own nutrition ; which are born and die ;
Yet, in their seed, immortal : such the flowers
With which young Maia pays the village -maids
That hail her natal morn ; and such the groves
Which blithe Pomona rears on Vaga's bank,
To feed the bowl of Ariconian swains
Who quaff beneath her branches. Nobler still
Is Beauty's name where, to the full consent
Of members and of features, to the pride 540

Of colour, and the vital change of growth,
Life's holy flame with piercing sense is given ;
While active motion speaks the tempered soul
So moves the bird of Juno : so the steed
With rival swiftness beats the dusty plain ;
And faithful dogs, with eager airs of joy,
Salute their fellows. What sublimer pomp
Adorns the seat where Virtue dwells on earth,
And Truth's eternal day-light shines around ?
What palm belongs to man's imperial front, 550
And woman, powerful with becoming smiles —
Chief of terrestrial natures, need we now
Strive to inculcate ? Thus hath Beauty there
Her most conspicuous praise to matter lent,
Where most conspicuous through that shadowy veil
Breaks forth the bright expression of a mind :
By steps directing our enraptured search
To Him — the first of minds, the chief, the sole,
From whom, thro' this wide, complicated world,
Did all her various lineaments begin ; 56o

To whom alone, consenting and entire,
At once their mutual influence all display.

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 101

He, God most high, (bear witness, Earth and

Heaven)
The living fountains in himself contains
Of beauteous and sublime. With Him enthroned,
Ere days or years trod their ethereal way,
In his supreme intelligence enthroned,
The queen of love holds her unclouded state —
Urania. Thee, O Father ! this extent
Of matter ; thee, the sluggish earth and tract 570
Of seas, the heavens and heavenly splendours feel,
Pervading, quickening, moving. From the depth
Of thy great essence, forth didst thou conduct
Eternal Form ; and there, where Chaos reigned,
Gavest her dominion to erect her seat,
And sanctify the mansion. All her works,
Well-pleased, thou didst behold — the gloomy fires
Of storm or earthquake, and the purest light
Of summer ; soft Campania's new-born rose,
And the slow weed which pines on Russian hills,
Comely alike to thy full vision stand : rai

To thy surrounding vision, which unites
All essences and powers of the great world
In one sole order, fair alike they stand,
As features well consenting, and alike
Required by Nature, ere she could attain
Her just resemblance to the perfect shape
Of universal Beauty, which with thee
Dwelt from the first. Thou also, ancient Mind,
Whom love and free beneficence await 500

In all thy doings ; to inferior minds,
Thy offspring, and to man, thy youngest son,
Refusing no convenient gift nor good ;
Their eyes did'st open, in this earth, yon heaven.
Those starry worlds, the countenance divine
Of Beauty to behold. But not to them
Did'st thou her awful magnitude reveal;

lOf, THE PLEASURES OE THE

Such as before thine own unbounded sight
She stands, (for never shall created soul
Conceive that object) nor, to all their kinds, fios
The same in shape or features, didst thou frame
Her image. Measuring well their different spheres
Of sense and action, thy paternal hand
Hath for each race prepared a different test
Of Beauty, owned and reverenced as their guide
Most apt, most faithful. Thence informed, they

scan
The objects that surround them ; and select,
Since the great whole disclaims their scanty view,
Each for himself selects peculiar parts
Of Nature ; what the standard fixed by Heaven
Within his breast approves : acquiring thus 611
A partial Beauty, which becomes his lot ;
A Beauty which his eye may comprehend,
His hand may copy ; leaving, O Supreme !
O thou whom none hath uttered ! leaving all
To thee that infinite, consummate form,
Which the great powers, the gods around thy throne
And nearest to thy counsels, know with thee
For ever to have been ; but who she is, fiig

Or what her likeness, know not. Man surveys
A narrower scene, where, by the mixed effect
Of things corporeal on his passive mind,
He judge th what is fair. Corporeal things
The mind of man impel with various powers,
And various features to his eye disclose.
The powers which move his sense with instant joy,
The features which attract his heart to love,
He marks, combines, reposits. Other powers
And features of the selfsame thing (unless
The beauteous form, the creature of his mind, 630
Bequest their close alliance) he o'erlooks,
Forgotten ; or, with self-beguiling zeal,

IMAGINATION. BOOK 1. 108

Whene'er his passions mingle in the work,
Half alters, half disowns. The tribes of men
Thus from their different functions and the shapes
Familiar to their eye, with art obtain,
Unconscious of their purpose, yet with art
Obtain the Beauty fitting man to love :
Whose proud desires from Nature's homely toil
Oft turn away, fastidious : asking still 6-io

His mind's high aid, to purify the form
From matter's gross communion ; to secure
For ever, from the meddling hand of Change,
Or rude Decay, her features ; and to add
Whatever ornaments may suit her mien,
Where'er he finds them scattered thro' the paths
Of Nature or of Fortune. Then he seats
The accomplished image deep within his breast,
Reviews it, and accounts it good and fair.

Thus the one Beauty of the world entire, 6so
The universal Venus, far beyond
The keenest effort of created eyes,
And their most wide horizon, dwells enthroned
In ancient silence. At her footstool stands
An altar burning with eternal fire,
Unsullied, unconsumed. Here every hour,
Here every moment, in their turns arrive
Her offspring ; an innumerable band
Of sisters, comely all, but differing far
In age, in stature, and expressive mien ; 660

More than bright Helen from her new-born babe.
To this maternal shrine in turns they come,
Each with her sacred lamp ; that from the source
Of living flame, which here immortal flows,
Their portions of its lustre they may draw
For days, or months, or years ; for ages, some ;
As their great parent's discipline requires.
Then to their several mansions they depart,

104 THE PLEASURES OF THE

In stars, In planets, through the unknown shores
Of yon ethereal ocean. Who can tell, 6?«

Even on the surface of this rolling earth,
How many make abode ? The fields, the groves,
The winding rivers and the azure main,
Are rendered solemn by their frequent feet,
Their rites sublime. There each her destined home
Informs with that pure radiance from the skies
Brought down, and shines throughout her little

sphere,
Exulting. Straight as travellers by night
Turn toward a distant flame, so some fit eye,
Among the various tenants of the scene, Cso

Discerns the heaven-born phantom seated there,
And owns her charms. Hence the wide universe,
Through all the seasons of revolving worlds,
Bears witness with its people, gods and men,
To Beauty's blissful power, and with the voice
Of grateful admiration still resounds :
That voice, to which is Beauty's frame divine
As is the cunning of the master's hand
To the sweet accent of the well-tuned lyre.

Genius of ancient Greece ! whose faithful steps
Have led us to these awful solitudes 6<ji

Of Nature and of Science ; nurse revered
Of generous counsels and heroic deeds ;
Oh ! let some portion of thy matchless praise
Dwell in my breast, and teach me to adorn
This unattempted theme. Nor be my thoughts
Presumptuous counted, if amid the calm
Which Hesper sheds along the vernal heaven,
If I, from vulgar Superstition's walk,
Impatient steal, and from the unseemly rites 700
Of splendid Adulation, to attend
With hymns thy presence in the sylvan shade,
By their malignant footsteps unprofaned.

IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 105

Come, O renowned power ! thy glowing mien
Such, and so elevated all thy form ;
As when the great barbaric lord, again
And yet again diminished, hid his face
Among the herd of satraps and of kings ;
And, at the lightning of thy lifted spear,
Crouched like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils,
Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs, 711
Thy smiling band of Arts, thy godlike sires
Of civil wisdom, thy unconquered youth,
After some glorious day rejoicing round
Their new- erected trophy. Guide my feet
Through fair Lyceum's walk, the olive shades
Of Academus, and the sacred vale
Haunted by steps divine, where once beneath
That ever-living plantane's ample boughs
Ilissus, by Socratic sounds detained, 72a

On his neglected urn attentive lay ;
While Boreas, lingering on the neighbouring steep
With beauteous Orithyia, his love tale
In silent awe suspended. There let me
With blameless hand, from thy unenvious fields,
Transplant some living blossoms, to adorn
My native clime : while, far beyond the meed
Of Fancy's toil aspiring, I unlock
The springs of ancient wisdom : while I add
(What cannot be disjoined from Beauty's praise)
Thy name and native dress, thy works beloved
And honoured : while to my compatriot youth
I point the great example of thy sons,
•And tune to Attic themes the British lyre.

106

THE PLEAS VliEb L)E THE

BOOK II. 1765.

ARGUMENT.

Introduction to this more difficult; part of the sub-
ject. Of Truth and its three classes, matter of fact,
experimental or scientifical truth, (contradistinguished
from opinion,) and universal truth ; which last is either
metaphysical or geometrical, either purely intellectual
or perfectly abstracted. On the power of discerning
truth depends that of acting with the view of an end ;
a circumstance essential to virtue. Of Virtue, con-
sidered in the divine mind as a perpetual and universal
beneficence. Of human virtue, considered as a system
of particular sentiments and actions, suitable to the
design of Providence and the condition of man 5 to
whom it constitutes the chief good and the first beauty.
Of Vice and its origin, Of Ridicule : its general
nature and final cause. Of the Passions ; particularly
of those which relate to evil natural or moral, and
which are generally accounted painful, though not al-
ways unattended with pleasure.

HUS far of Beauty, and the pleasing
forms
Which man's untutored fancy, from
the scenes
Imperfect of this ever-changing world,
Creates, and views, enamoured. "Novr my song
Severer themes demand : mysterious Truth,
And Virtue, sovereign good : the spells, the trains,

IMAGINATION. BOOK II, 107

The progeny of Error ; the dread sway
Of Passion ; and whatever hidden stores
From her own lofty deeds and from herself
The mind acquires. Severer argument : 10

"Not less attractive : nor deserving less
A constant ear. For what are all the forms
Educed by fancy from corporeal things,
Greatness, or pomp, or symmetry of parts ?
Not tending to the heart, soon feeble grows,
As the blunt arrow 'gainst the knotty trunk,
Their impulse on the sense : while the palled eye
Expects in vain its tribute ; asks in vain,
Where are the ornaments it once admired ?
Not so the moral species, nor the powers so

Of Passion and of Thought. The ambitious mind
"With objects boundless as her own desires
Can there converse : by these unfading forms
Touched and awakened still, with eager act
She bends each nerve, and meditates, well pleased,
Her gifts, her godlike fortune. Such the scenes
Xow opening round us. May the destined verse
Maintain its equal tenor, though in tracts
Obscure and arduous ! May the source of light,
All-present, all-sufficient, guide our steps .jo

Through every maze ! and whom in childish years
From the loud throng, the beaten paths of wealth,
And power, thou didst apart send forth to speak
In tuneful words concerning highest things ;
Him still do thou, O Father, at those hours
Of pensive freedom, when the human soul
* Shuts out the rumour of the world, him still
Touch thou with secret lessons ; call thou back
Each erring thought ; and let the yielding strains
From his full bosom, like a welcome rill 40

Spontaneous from its healthy fountain, flow !
But from what name, what favourable sign,

108 THE PLEASURES OF THE

What heavenly auspice, rather shall T date
My perilous excursion, than from Truth,
That nearest inmate of the human soul ;
Estranged from whom, the countenance divine
Of man, disfigured and dishonoured, sinks
Anion o- inferior things ? For to the brutes
Perception and the transient boons of sense
Hath Fate imparted : but to man alone, do

Of sublunary beings, was it given
Each fleeting impulse on the sensual powers
At leisure to review ; with equal eye
To scan the passion of the stricken nerve,
Or the vague object striking ; to conduct
From sense, the portal turbulent and loud,
Into the mind's wide palace one by one
The frequent, pressing, fluctuating forms,
And question and compare them. Thus he learns
Their birth and fortunes ; how allied they haunt
The avenues of sense ; what laws direct 6 1

Their union ; and what various discords rise,
Or fixed or casual : which when his clear thought
Retains, and when his faithful words express,
That living image of the external scene,
As in a polished mirror held to view,
Is Truth : where'er it varies from the shape
And hue of its exemplar, in that part
Dim Error lurks. Moreover, from without,
When oft the same society of forms ?c

In the same order have approached his mind,
He deigns no more their steps with curious heed
To trace ; no more their features or their garb
He now examines ; but of them and their
Condition, as with some diviner's tongue,
Affirms what Heaven in every distant place,
Through every future season, will decree.
This too is Truth : where'er his prudent lips

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 109

Wait till experience diligent and slow

Has authorized their sentence, this is Truth. eo

A second, higher kind : the parent this

Of Science ; or the lofty power herself,

Science herself: on whom the wants and cares

Of social life depend ; the substitute

Of God's own wisdom in this toilsome world ;

The providence of man. Yet oft in vain,

To earn her aid, with fixed and anxious eye

He looks on Nature's and on Fortune's course :

Too much in vain. His duller visual ray

The stillness and the persevering acts go

Of Nature oft elude ; and Fortune oft,

With step fantastic, from her wonted walk

Turns into mazes dim ; his sight is foiled ;

And the crude sentence of his faltering tongue

Is but opinion's verdict, half believed

And prone to change. Here thou, who feel'st

thine ear
Congenial to my lyre's profounder tone,
Pause, and be watchful. Hitherto the stores,
Which feed thy mind and exercise her powers,
Partake the relish of their native soil, 100

Their parent earth. But know, a nobler dower
Her Sire at birth decreed her ; purer gifts
From his own treasure ; forms which never deigned
In eyes or ears to dwell, within the sense
Of earthly organs ; but sublime were placed
In his essential reason, leading there
That vast ideal host which all his works
Through endless ages never will reveal.
Thus then endowed, the feeble creature man,
The slave of hunger and the prey of death, no
Even now, even here, in earth's dim prison bound,
The language of intelligence divine
Attains ; repeating oft concerning one

HO THE PLEASURES OF THE

And many, past and present, parts and whole,
Those sovereign dictates which in farthest heaven.
Where no orb rolls, Eternity's fixed ear
Hears from coeval Truth, when Chance nor

Change,
Nature's loud progeny, nor Nature's self
Dares intermeddle, or approach her throne.
Ere long, o'er this corporeal world he learns 120
To extend her sway ; while calling from the deep,
From earth and air, their multitudes untold
Of figures and of motions round his walk,
For each wide family some single birth
He sets in view, the impartial type of all
Its brethren ; suffering it to claim, beyond
Their common heritage, no private gift,
No proper fortune. Then whate'er his eye
In this discerns, his bold unerring tongue
Pronounceth of the kindred, without bound, iso
Without condition. Such the rise of forms
Sequestered far from sense and every spot
Peculiar in the realms of space or time :
Such is the throne which man for Truth amid
The paths of mutability hath built
Secure, unshaken, still ; and whence he views,
In matter's mouldering structures, the pure forms
Of triangle or circle, cube or cone,
Impassive all ; whose attributes nor force
Nor fate can alter. There he first conceives 140
True being, and an intellectual world
The same this hour and ever. Thence he deems
Of his own lot ; above the painted shapes
That fleeting move o'er this terrestrial scene
Looks up ; beyond the adamantine gates
Of death expatiates ; as his birthright claims
Inheritance in all the works of God ;
Prepares for endless time his plan of life,

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 11)

And counts the universe itself his home.

"Whence also but from Truth, the light of minds,
Is human fortune gladdened with the rajs 151

Of Virtue ? with the moral colours thrown
On every walk of this our social scene,
Adorning for the eye of gods and men
The passions, actions, habitudes of life,
And rendering earth like heaven, a sacred place
Where Love and Praise may take delight to dwell ?
Let none with heedless tongue from Truth disjoin
The reign of Virtue. Ere the dayspring flowed,
Like sisters linked in Concord's golden chain, 160
They stood before the great Eternal Mind,
Their common parent ; and by him were both
Sent forth among his creatures, hand in hand
Inseparably joined : nor e'er did Truth
Find an apt ear to listen to her lore, [Truth's
Which knew not Virtue's voice ; nor, save where
Majestic words are heard and understood,
Doth Virtue deign to inhabit. Go, inquire
Of Nature : not among Tartarian rocks,
Whither the hungry vulture with its prey 170
Returns : not where the lion's sullen roar
At noon resounds along the lonely banks
Of ancient Tigris : but her gentler scenes,
The dovecote and the shepherd's fold at morn,
Consult ; or by the meadow's fragrant hedge,
In spring-time when the woodlands first are green,
Attend the linnet singing to his mate,
Couched o'er their tender young. To this fond care
Thou dost not Virtue's honourable name
Attribute ; wherefore, save that not one gleam iso
Of Truth did e'er discover to themselves
Their little hearts, or teach them, by the effects
Of that parental love, the love itself
To judge, and measure its officious deeds ?

112 THE PLEASURES OF THE

But man, whose eyelids Truth has filled with day,
Discerns how skilfully to bounteous ends
His wise affections move ; with free accord
Adopts their guidance ; yields himself secure
To Nature's prudent impulse ; and converts
Instinct to duty and to sacred law. 190

Hence Right and Fit on earth : while thus to man
The Almighty Legislator hath explained
The springs of action fixed within his breast ;
Hath given him power to slacken or restrain
Their effort ; and hath shown him how they join
Their partial movements with the master-wheel
Of the great world, and serve that sacred end ■
Which He, the unerring reason, keeps in view.

For (if a mortal tongue may speak of Him
And his dread ways) even as his boundless eye, 200
Connecting every form and every change,
Beholds the perfect Beauty ; so his will,
Through every hour producing good to all
The family of creatures, is itself
The perfect Virtue. Let the grateful swain
Remember this, as oft, with joy and praise,
He looks upon the falling dews which clothe
His lawns with verdure, and the tender seed
Nourish within his furrows : when between
Dead seas and burning skies, where long unmoved
The bark had languished, now a rustling gale 211
Lifts o'er the fickle waves her dancing prow,
Let the glad pilot, bursting out in thanks,
Remember this : lest blind, o'erweening pride
Pollute their offerings : lest their selfish heart
Say to the heavenly ruler, " At our call
Relents thy power : by us thy arm is moved."
Fools ! who of God as of each other deem ;
Who his invariable acts deduce
From sudden counsels transient as their own ; 220

INVAGINATION. BOOK II. 113

Nor farther of his bounty, than the event

Which haply meets their loud and eager prayer,

Acknowledge ; nor, beyond the drop minute

Which haply they have tasted, heed the source

That flows for all ; the fountain of his love

Which, from the summit where he sits enthroned,

Pours health and joy, unfailing streams, throughout

The spacious region flourishing in view,

The goodly work of his eternal day,

His own fair universe ; on which alone 230

His counsels fix, and whence alone his will

Assumes her strong direction. Such is now

His sovereign purpose : such it was before

All multitude of years. For his right arm

Was never idle : his bestowing love

Knew no beginning ; was not as a change

Of mood that woke at last and started up

After a deep and solitary sloth

Of boundless ages. No : he now is good,

He ever was. The feet of hoary Time 240

Through their eternal course have travelled o'er

No speechless, lifeless desert ; but through scenes

Cheerful with bounty still ; among a pomp

Of worlds, for gladness round the Maker's throne

Loud- shouting, or, in many dialects

Of hope and filial trust, imploring thence

The fortunes of their people : where so fixed

Were all the dates of being, so disposed

To every living soul of every kind

The field of motion and the hour of rest, 250

That each the general happiness might serve ;

And, by the discipline of laws divine

Convinced of folly, or chastised from guilt,

Each might at length be happy. What remains

Shall be like what is passed ; but fairer still,

And still increasing in the godlike gifts

114 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Of Life and Truth. The same paternal hand,

From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore,

To men, to angels, to celestial minds,

Will ever lead the generations on 260

Through higher scenes of being : while, supplied

From day to day by his enlivening breath,

Inferior orders in succession rise

To fill the void below. As flame ascends,

As vapours to the earth in showers return,

As the poised ocean toward the attracting moon

Swells, and the ever-listening planets, charmed

By the sun's call, their onward pace incline,

So all things which have life aspire to God,

Exhaustless fount of intellectual day ! 270

Centre of souls ! Nor doth the mastering voice

Of Nature cease within to prompt aright

Their steps ; nor is the care of Heaven withheld

From sending to the toil external aid ;

That in their stations all may persevere

To climb the ascent of being, and approach

For ever nearer to the Life divine.

But this eternal fabric was not raised
For man's inspection. Though to some be given
To catch a transient, visionary glimpse 280

Of that majestic scene, which boundless power
Prepares for perfect goodness, yet in vain
Would human life her faculties expand
To embosom such an object. Nor could e'er
Virtue or praise have touched the hearts of men,
Had not the Sovereign Guide, through every stage
Of this their various journey, pointed out
New hopes, new. toils, which, to their humble sphere
Of sight and strength, might such importance hold
As doth the wide creation to his own. 290

Hence all the little charities of life,
With all their duties : hence that favourite palm

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 115

Of human will, when duty is sufficed,

And still the liberal soul in ampler deeds

Would manifest herself; that sacred sign

Of her revered affinity to Him

Whose bounties are his own ; to whom none said,

" Create the wisest, fullest, fairest world,

And make its offspring happy ;" who, intent

Some likeness of Himself among his works 3C0

To view, hath poured into the human breast

A ray of knowledge and of love, which guides

Earth's feeble race to act their Maker's part,

Self-judging, self-obliged : while, from before

That god-like function, the gigantic power

Necessity, though wont to curb the force

Of Chaos and the savage elements.

Retires abashed, as from a scene too high

For her brute tyranny, and with her bears

Her scorned followers, Terror and base Awe, 310

Who blinds herself, and that ill-suited pair,

Obedience linked with Hatred. Then the soul

Arises in her strength ; and, looking round

Her busy sphere, whatever work she views,

Whatever counsel bearing any trace

Of her Creator's likeness, whether apt

To aid her fellows or preserve herself

In her superior functions unimpaired,

Thither she turns exulting : that she claims

As her peculiar good : on that, through all 3co

The fickle seasons of the day, she looks

With reverence still : to that, as to a fence

Against affliction and the darts of pain,

Her drooping hopes repair : and, once opposed

To that, all other pleasure, other wealth,

Vile, as the dross upon the molten gold,

Appears, and loathsome as the briny sea

To him who languishes with thirst and sighs

116 THE PLEASURES OF THE

For some known fountain pure. For what can

strive
With Virtue ? Which of Nature's regions vast 330
Can in so many forms produce to sight
Such powerful Beauty ? Beauty, which the eye
Of Hatred cannot look upon secure :
Which Envy's self contemplates, and is turned
Ere long to tenderness, to infant smiles,
Or tears of humblest love. Is aught so fair
In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring,
The Summer's noontide groves, the purple eve
At harvest-home, or in the frosty moon 339

Glittering on some smooth sea ; is aught so fair
As virtuous friendship ? as the honoured roof,
Whither, from highest heaven, immortal Love
His torch ethereal and his golden bow
Propitious brings, and there a temple holds
To whose unspotted service gladly vowed
The social band of parent, brother, child,
With smiles and sweet discourse and gentle deeds
Adore his power ? What gift of richest clime
E'er drew such eager eyes, or prompted such
Deep wishes, as the zeal that snatcheth back 350
From Slander's poisonous tooth a foe's renown ;
Or crosseth danger in his lion walk,
A rival's life to rescue ? as the young
Athenian warrior sitting down in bonds,
That his great father's body might not want
A peaceful, humble tomb ? the Roman wife
Teaching her lord how harmless was the wound
Of death, how impotent the tyrant's rage,
Who nothing more could threaten, to afflict
Their faithful love ? Or is there in the abyss, 360
Is there, among the adamantine spheres
Wheeling unshaken through the boundless void,
Aught that with half such majesty can fill

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 117

The human bosom, as when Brutus rose
Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate,
Amid the crowd of patriots ; and, his arm
Aloft extending, like eternal Jove
When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud
On Tully's name, and shook the crimson sword
Of justice in his rapt astonished eye, 370

And bade the father of his country hail,
For lo, the tyrant prostrate on the dust,
And Kome again is free ? Thus, thro' the paths
Of human life, in various pomp arrayed,
Walks the wise daughter of the judge of heaven,
Fair Virtue ; from her Father's throne supreme,
Sent down to utter laws, such as on earth
Most apt he knew, most powerful to promote
The weal of all his works, the gracious end
Of his dread empire. And tho' haply man's sso
Obscurer sight, so far beyond himself
And the brief labours of his little home,
Extends not ; yet, by the bright presence won
Of this divine instructress, to her sway,
Pleased, he assents, nor heeds the distant goal
To which her voice conducts him. Thus hath God,
Still looking toward his own high purpose, fixed
The virtues of his creatures ; thus he rules
The parent's fondness and the patriot's zeal ;
Thus the warm sense of honour and of shame ; 390
The vows of gratitude, the faith of love,
And all the comely intercourse of praise —
The joy of human life, the earthly heaven !
* How far unlike them must the lot of guilt
Be found ! Or what terrestrial woe can match
The self-convicted bosom, which hath wrought
The bane of others or enslaved itself
With shackles vile ? Not poison, nor sharp fire,
Nor the worst pangs that ever monkish hate

118 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Suggested, or despotic rage imposed, , 400
Were at that season an unwished exchange :
When the soul loathes herself : wlien, flying thence
To crowds, on every brow she sees portrayed
Fell demons, Hate or Scorn, which drive her back
To solitude, her judge's voice divine
To hear in secret, haply sounding through
The troubled dreams of midnight, and still, still
Demanding for his violated laws
Fit recompense, or charging her own tongue
To speak the award of justice on herself. 410

For well she knows what faithful hints within
Were whispered ; to beware the lying forms
Which turned her footsteps from the safer way :
What cautions to suspect their painted dress,
And look with steady eyelid on their smiles,
Their frowns, their tears. In vain : the dazzling
Of Fancy, and Opinion's eager voice, [hues

Too much prevailed. For mortals tread the path
In which Opinion says they follow good
Or fly from evil ; and Opinion gives 420

Report of good or evil, as the scene
Was drawn by Fancy, pleasing or deformed :
Thus her report can never there be true,
Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye
With glaring colours and distorted lines.
Is there a man to whom the name of death
Brings terror's ghastly pageants conjured up
Before him, death-bed groans, and dismal vows,
And the frail soul plunged headlong from the brink
Of life and daylight down the gloomy air, 430

An unknown depth, to gulfs of torturing fire
Unvisited by mercy ? Then what hand
Can snatch this dreamer from the fatal toils
Which Fancy and Opinion thus conspire
To twine around his heart ? Or who shall hush

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 119

Their clamour, when they tell him that to die,
To risk those horrors, is a direr curse
Than basest life can bring ? Tho' Love, with prayers
Most tender, with affliction's sacre^ tears,
Beseech his aid ; though Gratitude and Faith 440
Condemn each step which loiters ; yet let none
Make answer for him, that if any frown
Of Danger thwart his path, he will not stay
Content, and be a wretch to be secure.
Here Vice begins then : at the gate of life,
Ere the young multitude to diverse roads
Part, like fond pilgrims on a journey unknown,
Sits Fancy, deep enchantress ; and to each,
With kind maternal looks, presents her bowl,
A potent beverage. Heedless they comply ; 430
Till the whole soul from that mysterious draught,
Is tinged, and every transient thought imbibes ■
Of gladness or disgust, desire or fear,
One homebred colour ; which not all the lights
Of Science e'er shall change ; not all the storms
Of adverse Fortune wash away, nor yet
The robe of purest Virtue quite conceal.
Thence on they pass, where meeting frequent shapes
Of good and evil— cunning phantoms apt
To fire or freeze the breast — with them they join
In dangerous parley ; listening oft, and oft 461
Gazing with reckless passion, while its garb
The spectre heightens, and its pompous tale
Repeats, with some new circumstance to suit
That early tincture of the hearer's soul.
And should the guardian, Reason, but for one
Short moment, yield to this illusive scene
His ear and eye, the intoxicating charm
Involves him, till no longer he discerns,
Or only guides to err. Then revel forth 470

A furious band that spurn him from the throne,

120 THE PLEASURES OF THE

And all is uproar. Hence Ambition climbs,
With sliding feet and hands impure, to grasp
Those solemn toys which glitter in his view
On Fortune's rugged steep : hence pale Revenge
Unsheaths her murderous dagger : Rapine hence,
And envious Lust, by venal fraud upborne,
Surmount the reverend barrier of the laws
Which kept them from their prey : hence all the

crimes
That e'er defiled the earth, and all the plagues 480
That follow them for vengeance, in the guise
Of Honour, Safety, Pleasure, Ease, or Pomp,
Stole first into the fond believing mind.

Yet not by Fancy's witchcraft on the brain
Are always the tumultuous passions driven
To guilty deeds, nor Reason bound in chains
That Vice alone may lord it. Oft, adorned
With motley pageants, Folly mounts his throne,
And plays her idiot antics, like a queen.
A thousand garbs she wears ; a thousand ways
She whirls her giddy empire. Lo ! thus far 491
With bold adventure, to the Mantuan lyre,
I sing for contemplation linked with love,
A pensive theme. Now haply should my song
Unbend that serious countenance, and learn
Thalia's tripping gait, her shrill-toned voice,
Her wiles familiar : whether scorn she darts
In wanton ambush from her lip or eye,
Or whether, with a sad disguise of care
O'ermantling her gay brow, she acts in sport 500
The deeds of Folly, and, from all sides round,
Calls forth impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke ;
Her province. But through every comic scene
To lead my Muse, with her light pencil armed ;
Through every swift occasion which the hand
Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting

IMAGINATION. BOOK II, 121

Distends her labouring sides and chokes her tongue ;
"Were endless as to sound each grating note
With which the rooks, and chattering daws, and

grave
Unwieldy inmates of the village pond, 510

The changing seasons of the sky proclaim ;
Sun, cloud, or shower. Suffice it to have said,
"Where'er the power of Ridicule displays
Her quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous form,
Some stubborn dissonance of things combined,
Strikes on her quick perception : whether Pomp,
Or Praise, or Beauty be dragged in and shown
Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds,
"Where foul Deformity is wont to dwell ; 519

Or whether these, with shrewd and wayward spite,
Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien,
The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise.
Ask we for what fair end the Almighty Sire
In mortal bosoms stirs this gay contempt,
These grateful pangs of laughter ; from disgust
Educing pleasure ? W7herefore, but to aid
The tardy steps of Reason, and at once,
By this prompt impulse, urge us to depress
"Wild Folly's aims ? For, though the sober light
Of Truth slow dawning on the watchful mind 530
At length unfolds, through many a subtle tie,
How these uncouth disorders end at last
In public evil ; yet benignant Heaven,
Conscious how dim the dawn of Truth appears
To thousands, conscious what a scanty pause
•From labour and from care the wider lot
Of humble life affords for studious thought
To scan the maze of Nature, therefore stamped
These glaring scenes with characters of scorn,
As broad, as obvious to the passing clown 540
As to the lettered sage's curious eye.

122 THE PLEASURES OF THE

But other evils o'er the steps of man,
Thro' all his walks, impend ; against whose might
The slender darts of Laughter nought avail :
A trivial warfare. Some, like cruel guards,
On Nature's ever-moving throne attend ;
With mischief armed for him whoe'er shall thwart
The path of her inexorable wheels,
While she pursues the work that must be done
Thro' ocean, earth, and air. Hence, frequent forms
Of woe ; the merchant, with his wealthy bark, 551
Buried by dashing waves ; the traveller
Pierced by the pointed lightning in his haste ;
And the poor husbandman, with folded arms,
Surveying his lost labours, and a heap
Of blasted chaff, the product of the field
Whence he expected bread. But worse than these
I deem, far worse, that other race of ills,
Which human kind rear up among themselves ;
That horrid offspring, which misgoverned Will 560
Bears to fantastic Error ; vices, crimes,
Furies that curse the earth, and make the blows,
The heaviest blows, of Nature's innocent hand
Seem sport : which are indeed but as the care
Of a wise parent, who solicits good
•To all her house, though haply at the price
Of tears and froward wailing and reproach
From some unthinking child, whom not the less
Its mother destines to be happy still.

These sources then of pain, this double lot 570
Of evil in the inheritance of man,
Bequired for his protection no slight force,
No careless watch ; and therefore was his breast
Fenced round with passions quick to be alarmed.
Or stubborn to oppose ; with Fear, more swift
Than beacons catching flame from hill to hill,
Where armies land ; with Anger, uncontrolled

IMAGINATION'. BOOK II. 123

As the young lion bounding on his prey ;

With Sorrow, that locks up the struggling heart,

And Shame, that overcasts the drooping eye, 580

As with a cloud of lightning. These the part

Perform of eager monitors, and goad

The soul more sharply than with points of steel,

Her enemies to shun or to resist.

And, as those passions that converse with good,

Are good themselves ; as Hope, and Love, and Joy,

Among the fairest and the sweetest boons

Of life, we rightly count ; so these, which guard

Against invading evil, still excite

Some pain, some tumult : these, within the mind

Too oft admitted or too long retained, 591

Shock their frail seat, and by their uncurbed rage

To savages more fell than Libya breeds

Transform themselves : till human thought becomes

A gloomy ruin, haunt of shapes unblessed,

Of self-tormenting fiends ; Horror, Despair,

Hatred, and wicked Envy — foes to all

The works of Nature and the gifts of Heaven.

But when thro1 blameless paths to righteous ends,
Those keener passions urge the awakened soul,
I would not, as ungracious violence, 601

Their sway describe, nor, from their free career,
The fellowship of Pleasure quite exclude.
For what can render to the self- approved,
Their temper void of comfort, though in pain ?
"Who knows not with what majesty divine
The forms of Truth and Justice to the mind
Appear, ennobling oft the sharpest woe
With triumph and rejoicing? Who, that bears
A human bosom, hath not often felt 610

How dear are all those ties which bind our race
In gentleness together, and how sweet
Their force, let Fortune's wayward hand the while

124 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Be kind or cruel ? Ask the faithful youth
Why the cold urn, of her whom long he loved,
So often fills his arms ; so often draws
His lonely footsteps, silent and unseen,
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ?
Oh ! he will tell thee that the wealth of worlds
Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 620

Those sacred hours when, stealing from the noise
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes,
With Virtue's kindest looks, his aching breast,
And turns his tears to rapture ? Ask the crowd,
Which flies impatient from the village walk
To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when, far below,
The savage winds have hurled upon the coast
Some helpless bark ; while holy Pity melts
The general eye, or Terror's icy hand
Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair ; 63a
While every mother closer to her breast
Catcheth her child, and, pointing where the waves
Foam through the shattered vessel, shrieks aloud
As one poor wretch, who spreads his piteous arms
For succour, swallowed by the roaring surge,
As now another, dashed againt the rock,
Drops lifeless down. Oh ! deemest thou indeed
JSTo pleasing influence here by Nature given
To mutual terror and compassion's tears ?
No tender charm mysterious, which attracts, 640
O'er all that edge of pain, the social powers
To this their proper action and their end ?
Ask thy own heart ; when, at the midnight hour,
Slow through that pensive gloom, thy pausing eye,
Led by the glimmering taper, moves around
The reverend volumes of the dead, the songs
Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame
For Grecian heroes, where the Sovereign Power
Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page,

IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 125

Even as a father meditating all 650

The praises of his son, and bids the rest
Of mankind there the fairest model learn
Of their own nature, and the noblest deeds
Which yet the world hath seen. If then thy soul
Join in the lot of those diviner men ;
Say, when the prospect darkens on thy view ;
When, sunk by many a wound, heroic states
Mourn in the dust and tremble at the frown
Of hard Ambition ; when the generous band
Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires
Lie side by side in death ; when brutal Force 661
Usurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp
Of guardian power, the majesty of rule,
The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe,
To poor dishonest pageants, to adorn
A robber's walk, and glitter in the eyes
Of such as bow the knee ; when beauteous works,
Rewards of virtue, sculptured forms which, decked
With more than human grace the warrior's arch,
Or patriot's tomb, now victims to appease O70
Tyrannic envy, strew the common path
With awful ruins ; when the Muse's haunt,
The marble porch where Wisdom wont to talk
With Socrates or Tully, hears no more
Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks,
Or female Superstition's midnight prayer ;
When ruthless Havoc from the hand of Time
Tears the destroying scythe, with surer stroke
To mow the monuments of Glory down ;
.Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown street Cso
Expands her raven wings, and, from the gate
Where senates once the weal of nations planned
Hisseth the gliding snake, through hoary weeds
That clasp the mouldering column : thus when all
The widely-mournful scene is fixed within

126 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Thy throbbing bosom ; when the patriot's tear

Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm

In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove

To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow,

Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ; C90

Say, doth thy secret soul repine to taste

The big distress ? or wouldst thou then exchange

Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot

Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd

Of silent flatterers bending to his nod ;

And o'er them, like a giant, casts his eye,

And says within himself, " I am a King,

And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe

Intrude upon mine ear ?" The dregs corrupt

Of barbarous ages, that Circeean draught 700

Of servitude and folly, have not yet,

Blessed be the Eternal Euler of the world !

Yet have not so dishonoured, so deformed

The native judgment of the human soul,

Nor so effaced the image of her Sire,

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 127

BOOK III. 1770.

^HAT tongue then may explain the

various fate
Which reigns o'er earth ? or who to

mortal eyes
Illustrate this perplexing labyrinth
Of joy and woe, through which the feet of man
Are doomed to wander ? That Eternal Mind,
From passions, wants, and envy far estranged,
Who built the spacious universe, and decked
Each part so richly with whate'er pertains
To life, to health, to pleasure ; why bade he
The viper Evil, creeping in, pollute 10

The goodly scene, and with insidious rage,
While the poor inmate looks around and smiles,
Dart her fell sting with poison to his soul ?
Hard is the question, and from ancient days
Hath still oppressed with care the sage's thought ;
Hath drawn forth accents from the poet's lyre
Too sad, too deeply plaintive : nor did e'er
Those chiefs of human kind, from whom the light
Of heavenly truth first gleamed on barbarous lands,
Forget this dreadful secret, when they told 20
'What wondrous things had to their favoured eyes
And ears on cloudy mountain been revealed,
Or in deep cave, by nymph or power divine,
Portentous oft and wild. Yet one I know,
Could I the speech of lawgivers assume,

128 THE PLEASURES OF THE

One old and splendid tale I would record,
With which the Muse of Solon, in sweet strains,
Adorned this theme profound, and rendered all
Its darkness, all its terrors, bright as noon,
Or gentle as the golden star of eve. 30

Who knows not Solon ? last, and wisest far,
Of those whom Greece, triumphant in the height
Of glory, styled her fathers ; him whose voice
Through Athens hushed the storm of civil wrath ;
Taught envious Want and cruel Wealth to join
In friendship ; and, with sweet compulsion, tamed
Minerva's eager people to his laws,
Which their own goddess in his breast inspired ?

'Twas now the time when his heroic task
Seemed but performed in vain : when, soothed by
years 40

Of flattering service, the fond multitude
Hung with their sudden counsels on the breath
Of great Pisistratus : that chief renowned,
Whom Hermes and the Idalian queen had trained,
Even from his birth, to every powerful art
Of pleasing and persuading : from whose lips
Flowed eloquence, which, like the vows of love,
Could steal away suspicion from the hearts
Of all who listened. Thus from day to day
He won the general suffrage, and beheld 50

Each rival overshadowed and depressed
Beneath his ampler state : yet oft complained,
As one less kindly treated, who had hoped
To merit favour, but submits perforce
To find another's services preferred,
Nor yet relaxeth aught of faith or zeal.
Then tales were scattered of his envious foes,
Of snares that watched his fame, of daggers aimed
Against his life. At last, with trembling limbs,
His hair diffused and wild, his garments loose, 60

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 129

And stained with blood from self-inflicted wounds,
He burst into the public place, as there,
There only, were his refuge ; and declared
In broken words, with sighs of deep regret,
The mortal danger he had scarce repelled.
Fired with his tragic tale, the indignant crowd,
To guard his steps, forthwith a menial band,
Arrayed beneath his eye for deeds of war,
Decree. O still too liberal of their trust,
And oft betrayed by over-grateful love, 70

The generous people ! Now behold him, fenced
By mercenary weapons, like a king,
Forth issuing from the city-gate at eve,
To seek his rural mansion, and with pomp
Crowding the public road. The swain stops short,
And sighs ; the officious townsmen stand at gaze,
And, shrinking, give the sullen pageant room.
Yet not the less obsequious was his brow ;
Nor less profuse of courteous words his tongue,
Of gracious gifts his hand : the while, by stealth, '
Like a small torrent fed with evening showers,
His train increased ; till, at that fatal time,
Just as the public eye, with doubt and shame
Startled, began to question what it saw,
Swift as the sound of earthquakes, rushed a voice
Through Athens, that Pisistratus had filled
The rocky citadel with hostile arms,
Had barred the steep ascent, and sate within,
Amid his hirelings, meditating death
To all whose stubborn necks his yoke refused. 90
Where then was Solon ? After ten long years
Of absence, full of haste from foreign shores
The sage, the lawgiver had now arrived :
Arrived, alas ! to see that Athens, that
Fair temple raised by him and sacred called
To Liberty and Concord, now profaned

130 THE PLEASURES OF THE

By savage hate, or sunk into a den
Of slaves who crouch beneath the master's scourge,
And deprecate his wrath, and court his chains.
Yet did not the wise patriot's grief impede 100
His virtuous will, nor was his heart inclined
One moment with such woman-like distress
To view the transient storms of civil war,
As thence to yield his country and her hopes
To all- devouring bondage. His bright helm,
Even while the traitor's impious act is told,
He buckles on his hoary head : he girds
With mail his stooping breast : the shield, the spear
He snatcheth ; and with swift, indignant strides
The assembled people seeks : proclaims aloud no
It was no time for counsel ; in their spears
Lay all their prudence now ; the tyrant yet
Was not so firmly seated on his throne,
But that one shock of their united force
Would dash him from the summit of his pride
Headlong and grovelling in the dust. " What else
Can re-assert the lost Athenian name,
So cheaply to the laughter of the world
Betrayed ; by guile beneath an infant's faith
So mocked and scorned ? Away, then : Freedom

now igo

And Safety dwell not but with fame in arms :
Myself will show you where their mansion lies,
And through the walks of Danger or of Death
Conduct you to them." While he spake, thro' all
Their crowded ranks his quick sagacious eye
He darted, where no cheerful voice was heard
Of social daring, no stretched arm was seen,
Hastening their common task ; but pale mistrust
Wrinkled each brow : they shook their heads, and

down
Their slack hands hung : cold sighs and whispered

doubts 130

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 131

From breath to breath stole round, The sage,

meantime,
Looked speechless on, while his big bosom heaved,
Struggling with shame and sorrow : till at last
A tear broke forth ; and, " 0 immortal shades,
O Theseus," he exclaimed, " O Codrus, where,
Where are ye now ? behold for what ye toiled
Through life : behold for whom ye chose to die."
Xo more he added ; but, with lonely steps,
Weary and slow, his silver beard depressed,
And, his stern eyes bent heedless on the ground,
Back to his silent dwelling he repaired. hi

There, o'er the gate, his armour, as a man
Whom from the service of the war his chief
Dismisseth after no inglorious toil,
He fixed in general view. One wishful look
He sent, unconscious, toward the public place
At parting : then beneath his quiet roof
Without a word, without a sigh, retired.

Scarce had the morrow's sun his golden rays
From sweet Hymettus darted o'er the fanes 150
Of Cecrops to the Salaminian shores,
When, lo ! on Solon's threshold met the feet
Of four Athenians, by the same sad care
Conducted all ; than whom the state beheld
Xone nobler. First came Megacles, the son
Of great. Alcmaeon, whom the Lydian king,
The mild, unhappy Croesus, in his days
Of glory had with costly gifts adorned,
Fair vessels, splendid garments, tinctured webs,
' And heaps of treasured gold, beyond the lot 160
Of many sovereigns ; thus requiting well
That hospitable favour which, erewhile,
Alcmason to his messengers had shown,
Whom he, with offerings worthy of the god,
Sent from his throne in Sardis to revere

132 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Apollo's Delphic shrine. With Megacles
Approached his son, whom Agarista bore,
The virtuous child of Clisthenes, whose hand
Of Grecian sceptres the most ancient far,
In Sicyon, swayed : but greater fame he drew 170
From arms controlled by justice, from the love
Of the wise Muses, and the unenvied wreath
Which glad Olympia gave. For thither once
His warlike steeds the hero led, and there
Contended through the -tumult of the course
WTith skilful wheels. Then victor at the goal,
Amid the applauses of assembled Greece,
High on his car he stood and waved his arm.
Silence ensued : when straight the herald's voice
Was heard, inviting every Grecian youth, 180

Whom Clisthenes, content, might call his son,
To visit, ere twice thirty days were passed,
The towers of Sicyon. There the chief decreed,
Within the circuit of the following year,
To join at Hymen's altar, hand in hand
With his fair daughter, him among the guests
Whom worthiest he should deem. Forthwith from

all
The bounds of Greece the ambitious wooers came :
From rich Hesperia ; from the Illyrian shore,
Where Epidamnus over Adria's surge 190

Looks on the setting sun ; from those brave tribes,
Chaonian or Molossian, whom the race
Of great Achilles governs, glorying still
In Troy o'erthrown ; from rough iEtolia, nurse
Of men who first among the Greeks threw off*
The yoke of kings, to commerce and to arms
Devoted ; from Thessalia's fertile meads,
Where flows Peneus, near the lofty walls
Of Cranon old ; from strong Eretria, queen
Of all Euboean cities, who, sublime 200

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 133

On the steep margin of Euripus, views,
Across the tide, the Marathonian plain,
Xot yet the haunt of glory. Athens too,
Minerva's care, among her graceful sons
Found equal lovers for the princely maid :
Xor was proud Argos wanting ; nor the domes
Of sacred Elis ; nor the Arcadian groves
That overshade Alpheus, echoing oft [band

Some shepherd's song. But thro' the illustrious
"Was none who might with Megacles compare, 210
In all the honours of unblemished youth.
His was the beauteous bride : and now their son
Young Clisthenes, betimes, at Solon's gate
Stood, anxious ; leaning forward on the arm
Of his great sire, with earnest eyes that asked
When the slow hinge would turn, with restless feet,
And cheeks now pale, now glowing : for his heart
Throbbed, full of bursting passions, anger, grief
With scorn imbittered, by the generous boy
Scarce understood, but which, like noble seeds,
Are destined, for his country and himself, 221

In riper years, to bring forth fruits divine
Of liberty and glory. jSText appeared
Two brave companions whom one mother bore
To different lords ; but whom the better ties
Of firm esteem and friendship rendered more
Than brothers : first Miltiades, who drew
From godlike JEacus his ancient line ;
That iEacus whose unimpeached renown
For sanctity and justice won the lyre 230

-Of elder bards to celebrate him throned
In Hades o'er the dead, where his decrees
The guilty soul within the burning gates
Of Tartarus compel, or send the good
To inhabit, with eternal health and peace,
The valleys of Elysium. From a stem

134 THE PLEASURES OF THE

So sacred, ne'er could worthier scion spring

Than this Miltiades ; whose aid, ere long,

The chiefs of Thrace, already on their ways

Sent by the inspired, foreknowing maid who sits

Upon the Delphic tripod, shall implore 24i

To wield their sceptre, and the rural wealth

Of fruitful Chersonesus to protect

With arms and laws. But, nothing careful now,

Save for his injured country, here he stands,

In deep solicitude with Cimon joined;

Unconscious both what widely different lots

Await them, taught by nature as they are

To know one common good, one common ill.

For Cimon, not his valour, not his birth, 200

Derived from Codrus, not a thousand gifts

Dealt round him with a wise, benignant hand ;

!No, not the Olympic olive, by himself

From his own brow transferred to soothe the mind

Of this Pisistratus, can long preserve

From the fell envy of the tyrant's sons,

And their assassin dagger. But, if death

Obscure upon his gentle steps attend,

Yet fate an ample recompense prepares

In his victorious son, that other great 260

Miltiades, who, o'er the very throne

Of Glory, shall, with Time's assiduous hand,

In adamantine characters engrave

The name of Athens ; and, by Freedom armed

'Gainst the gigantic pride of Asia's king,

Shall all the achievements of the heroes old

Surmount, of Hercules, of all who sailed

From Thessaly with Jason, all who fought

For empire or for fame, at Thebes or Troy.

Such were the patriots who within the porch
Of Solon had assembled. But the gate 271

Xow opens, and across the ample floor

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 135

Straight they proceed into an open space,
Bright with the beams of morn : a verdant spot,
Where stands a rural altar, piled with sods
Cut from the grassy turf, and girt with wreaths
Of branching palm. Here Solon's self they found,
Clad in a robe of purple pure, and decked
With leaves of olive on his reverend brow.
He bowed before the altar, and, o'er cakes gso
Of barley, from two earthen vessels poured
Of honey and of milk a plenteous stream ;
Calling, meantime, the Muses to accept
His simple offering, by no victim tinged
With blood, nor sullied by destroying fire,
But such as for himself Apollo claims
In his own Delos, where his favourite haunt
Is thence the Altar of the Pious named.
Unseen, the guests drew near, and, silent, viewed
That worship ; till the hero -priest his eye 290
Turned toward a seat on which, prepared, there lay
A branch of laurel. Then his friends, confessed,
Before him stood. Backward his step he drew,
As loath that care or tumult should approach
Those early rites divine ; but soon their looks,
So anxious, and their hands, held forth with such
Desponding gesture, bring him on perforce
To speak to their affliction. " Are ye come,"
He cried, " to mourn with me this common shame ?
Or ask ye some new effort which may break soo
Our fetters ? Know then, of the public cause
Xot for yon traitor's cunning, or his might,
Do I despair : nor could I wish froni Jove
Aught dearer, than, at this late hour of life,
As once by laws, so now by strenuous arms,
From impious violation, to assert
The rights our fathers left us. But, alas !
What arms ? or who shall wield them ? Ye beheld

136 THE PLEASURES OF THE

The Athenian people. Many bitter days
Must pass, and many wounds from cruel pride 310
Be felt, ere yet their partial hearts find room
For just resentment, or their hands endure
To smite this tyrant brood, so near to all
Their hopes, so oft admired, so long beloved.
That time will come, however. Be it yours
To watch its fair approach, and urge it on
With honest prudence : me it ill beseems
Again to supplicate the unwilling crowd
To rescue from a vile deceiver's hold
That envied power, which once, with eager zeal,
They offered to myself; nor can I plunge ssu

In counsels deep and various, nor prepare
For distant wars, thus faltering as I tread
On life's last verge, ere long to join the shades
Of Minos and Lycurgus. But, behold
What care employs me now. My vows I pay
To the sweet Muses, teachers of my youth
And solace of my age. If right I deem
Of the still voice that whispers at my heart,
The immortal sisters have not quite withdrawn 330
Their old harmonious influence. Let your tongues
With sacred silence favour what I speak,
And haply shall my faithful lips be taught
To unfold celestial counsels, which may arm,
As with impenetrable steel, your breasts
For the long strife before you, and repel
The darts of adverse fate." He said, and snatched
The laurel bough, and sate in silence down,
Fixed, wrapped in solemn musing, full before
The sun, who now from all his radiant orb .*uo
Drove the grey clouds, and poured his genial light
Upon the breast of Solon. Solon raised
Aloft the leafy rod, and thus began :

" Ye beauteous offspring of Olympian Jove

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 137

And Memory divine, Pierian maids,

Hear me, propitious. In the morn of life,

When hope shone bright and all the prospect smiled,

To your sequestered mansion oft my steps

AVere turned, O Muses, and within your gate

My offerings paid. Ye taught me then with strains

Of flowing harmony to soften war's 351

Dire voice, or in fair colours, that might charm

The public eye, to clothe the form austere

Of civil counsel. IsTow, my feeble age

Neglected, and supplanted of the hope

On which it leaned, yet sinks not, but to you,

To your mild wisdom flies — refuge beloved

Of solitude and silence. Ye can teach

The visions of my bed what e'er the god ,

In the rude ages of the world inspired, 360

Or the first heroes, acted : ye can make

The morning light more gladsome to my sense

Than ever it appeared to active youth

Pursuing careless pleasure : ye can give

To this long leisure, these unheeded hours,

A labour as sublime as when the sons

Of Athens thronged, and speechless round me stood,

To hear pronounced, for all their future deeds,

The bounds of right and wrong. Celestial powers !

I feel that ye are near me : and, behold ! 370

To meet your energy divine, I bring

A high and sacred theme ; not less than those

Which to the eternal custody of Fame

Your lips intrusted, when of old ye deigned,

With Orpheus or with Homer, to frequent

The groves of Hasmus, or the Chian shore.

" Ye know, harmonious maids, (for what of all
My various life was e'er from you estranged ?)
Oft hath my solitary song to you
Revealed that duteous pride which turned my steps

138 THE PLEASURES OF THE

To willing exile ; earnest to withdraw ssi

From envy and the disappointed thirst

Of lucre, lest the bold, familiar strife,

Which, in the eye of Athens, they upheld

Against her legislator, should impair

With trivial doubt the reverence of his laws.

To Egypt therefore, through the iEgean isles,

My course I steered, and, by the banks of Nile,

Dwelt in Canopus. Thence the hallowed domes

Of Sais, and the rites to Isis paid, 3$)

I sought, and in her temple's silent courts,

Through many changing moons, attentive, heard

The venerable Sonchis, while his tongue

At morn, or midnight, the deep story told

Of her who represents whatever has been,

Or is, or shall be ; whose mysterious veil

Xo mortal hand hath ever yet removed.

By him exhorted, southward to the walls

Of On I passed, the city of the sun,

The ever-youthful god. 'Twas there, amid 4ot

His priests and sages, who the livelong night

Watch the dread movements of the starry sphere

Or who, in wondrous fables, half disclose

The secrets of the elements, 'twas there

That great Psenophis taught my raptured ears

The fame of old Atlantis, — of her chiefs,

And her pure laws, the first which earth obeyed.

Deep in my bosom sunk the noble tale ;

And often, while I listened, did my mind

Fortell with what delight her own free lyre 410

Should sometime for an Attic audience raise

Anew that lofty scene, and from their tombs

Call forth those ancient demigods, to speak

Of Justice and the hidden Providence

That walks among mankind. But yet, meantime,

The mystic pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons

IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 189

Became less pleasing. With contempt I gazed
On that tame garb, and those unvarying paths
To which the double yoke of king and priest
Had cramped the sullen race. At last, with hymns
Invoking our own Pallas and the gods 421

Of cheerful Greece, a glad farewell I gave
To Egypt, and before the southern wind
Spread my full sails. What climes I then surveyed,
What fortunes I encountered in the realm
Of Croesus, or upon the Cyprian shore,
The Muse, who prompts my bosom, doth not now
Consent that I reveal. But when, at length,
Ten times the sun, returning from the south,
Had strowed with flowers the verdant earth, and
filled 430

The groves with music, pleased, I then beheld
The term of those long errors drawing nigh.
4 Xor yet,' I said, ' will I sit down within
The walls of Athens, till my feet have trod
The Cretan soil, have pierced those reverend haunts
Whence Law and Civil Concord issued forth,
As from their ancient home, and still to Greece
Their wisest, loftiest discipline proclaim.'
Straight where Amnisus, mart of wealthy ships,
Appears, beneath famed Cnossus and her towers,
Like the fair handmaid of a stately queen, ai
I checked my prow, and thence, with eager steps,
The city of Minos entered. O ye gods,
Wlio taught the leaders of the simpler time,
By written words, to curb the untoward will
Gf mortals, how, within that generous isle,
Have ye the triumphs of your power displayed,
Munificent ! Those splendid merchants, lords
Of traffic and the sea ; with what delight
I saw them, at their public meal, like sons -ro
Of the same household, join the plainer sort

140 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Whose wealth was only freedom : whence to these
Vile envy, and to those fantastic pride,
Alike was strange ; but noble concord still
Cherished the strength untamed, the rustic faith,
Of their first fathers. Then the growing race ;
How pleasing to behold them in their schools,
Their sports, their labours, ever placed within,
O shade of Minos ! thy controlling eye.
Here was a docile band in tuneful tones 460

Thy laws pronouncing, or, with lofty hymns,
Praising the bounteous gods, or, to preserve
Their country's heroes from oblivious night,
Pesounding what the Muse inspired of old ;
There, on the verge of manhood, others met,
In heavy armour through the heats of noon
To march, the rugged mountain's height to climb
With measured swiftness, from the hard-bent bow
To send resistless arrows to their mark,
Or for the fame of prowess to contend ; 470

Now wrestling, now with fists and staves opposed,
Now with the biting falchion, and the fence
Of brazen shields ; while still the warbling flute
Presided o'er the combat, breathing strains
Grave, solemn, soft, and changing headlong spite
To thoughtful resolution cool and clear.
Such I beheld those islanders renowned,
So tutored from their birth to meet in war
Each bold invader, and in peace to guard
That living flame of reverence for their laws 480
Which nor the storms of fortune, nor the flood
Of foreign wealth diffused o'er all the land,
Could quench or slacken. First of human names
In every Cretan's heart was Minos still ;
And holiest far, of what the sun surveys
Thro' his whole course, were those primeval seats
Which, with religious footsteps he had taught

IMAGINATION. BOOK III 141

Their sires to approach ; the wild Dictaean cave
Where Jove was born ; the ever-verdant meads
Of Ida, and the spacious grotto, where 490

His active youth he passed, and where his throne
Yet stands mysterious ; whither Minos came
Each ninth returning year, the king of gods
And mortals, there in secret to consult
On justice, and the tables of his law
To inscribe anew. Oft also, with like zeal,
Great Rhea's mansion, from the Cnossian gates,
Men visit ; nor less oft the antique fane
Built on that sacred spot, along the banks
Of shady Theron, where benignant Jove 500

And his majestic consort joined their hands
And spoke their nuptial vows. Alas, 'twas there
That the dire fame of Athens sunk in bonds
I first received ; what time an annual feast
Had summoned all the genial country round,
By sacrifice and pomp to bring to mind
That first great spousal; while the enamoured

youths
And virgins, with the priest before the shrine,
Observe the same pure ritual, and invoke
The same glad omens. There, among the crowd
Of strangers, from those naval cities drawn 511
Which deck, like gems, the island's northern shore,
A merchant of iEgina I descried, —
My ancient host ; but, forward as I sprung
To meet him, he, with dark dejected brow,
Stopped half averse ; and, ' O Athenian guest,'
He said, ; art thou in Crete, these joyful rites
Partaking ? Know thy laws are blotted out :
Thy country kneels before a tyrant's throne.'
He added names of men, with hostile deeds 5^0
Disastrous ; which obscure and indistinct
I heard ; for, while he spake, my heart grew cold

142 THE PLEASURES OF THE

And my eyes dim : the altars and their train

No more were present to me : how I fared,

Or whither turned, I know not ; nor recall

Aught of those moments other than the sense

Of one who struggles in oppressive sleep,

And, from the toils of some distressful dream

To break away, with palpitating heart,

Weak limbs, and temples bathed in death-like dew,

Makes many a painful effort. When at last 53 1

The sun and nature's face again appeared,

Not far I found me, where the public path,

Winding thro' cypress groves and swelling meads,

From Cnossus to the cave of Jove ascends.

Heedless, I followed on ; till soon the skirts

Of Ida rose before me, and the vault,

Wide opening, pierced the mountain's rocky side.

Entering within the threshold, on the ground

I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil." 540
* * * *

IMAGINATION, BOOK IV. 143

THE BEGINNING- OF THE

FOURTH BOOK OF THE PLEASURES OF

THE IMAGINATION. 1770.

jjNE effort more, one cheerful sally more,
Our destined course will finish ; and

in peace
Then, for an offering sacred to the
powers
Who lent us gracious guidance, we will then
Inscribe a monument of deathless praise,
O my adventurous song ! With steady speed,
Long hast thou, on an untried voyage bound,
Sailed between earth and heaven : hast now sur-
veyed,
Stretched out beneath thee, all the mazy tracts
Of Passion and Opinion ; like a waste 10

Of sands and flowery lawns and tangling woods,
Where mortals roam bewildered : and hast now,
Exulting, soared among the worlds above,
Or hovered near the eternal gates of heaven.
If haply the discourses of the gods,
A curious, but an unpresuming guest,
Thou might'st partake, and carry back some strain
Of divine wisdom, lawful to repeat,
And apt to be conceived of man below.
A different task remains ; the secret paths -co
Of early genius to explore : to trace
Those haunts where Fancy her predestined sons,

144 THE PLEASURES OF THE

Like to the demigods of old, doth nurse,

Remote from eyes profane. Ye happy souls,

Who now her tender discipline obey,

Where dwell ye ? What wild river's brink at eve

Imprint your steps ? What solemn groves at noon

Use ye to visit, often breaking forth

In rapture 'mid your dilatory walk,

Or musing, as in slumber, on the green ? 30

— Would I again were with you ! — O ye dales

Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands ; where,

Oft as the giant flood obliquely strides,

And his banks open, and his lawns extend,

Stops short the pleased traveller to view,

Presiding o'er the scene, some rustic tower

Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands :

0 ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook
The rocky pavement and the mossy falls

Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream ; 40

How gladly I recall your well-known seats,
Beloved of old, and that delightful time
When, all alone, for many a summer's day,

1 wandered through your calm recesses, led
In silence by some powerful hand unseen.

Nor will I e'er forget you ; nor shall e'er
The graver tasks of manhood, or the advice
Of vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim
Those studies which possessed me in the dawn
Of life, and fixed the colour of my mind 50

For every future year : whence even now
From sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn,
And, while the world around lies overwhelmed
In idle darkness, am alive to thoughts
Of honourable fame, of truth divine
Or moral, and of minds to virtue won
By the sweet magic of harmonious verse ;
The themes which now expect us. For thus far

IMAGINATION. BOOK IV. 145

On general habits, and on arts which grow
Spontaneous in the minds of all mankind, Co

Hath dwelt our argument ; and how, self-taught,
Though seldom conscious of their own employ,
In Nature's or in Fortune's changeful scene,
Men learn to judge of Beauty, and acquire
Those forms, set up as idols m the soul,
For love and zealous praise. Yet indistinct.
In vulgar bosoms, and unnoticed lie
These pleasing stores, unless the casual force
Of things external prompt the heedless mind
To recognize her wealth. But some there are 70
Conscious of Nature, and the rule which man
O'er Nature holds : some who, within themselves
Retiring from the trivial scenes of chance
And momentary passion, can at will
Call up these fair exemplars of the mind ;
Review their features ; scan the secret laws
Which bind them to each other ; and display,
By forms, or sounds, or colours, to the sense
Of all the world their latent charms display ;
Even as in Nature's frame, (if such a word, so
If such a word, so bold, may from the lips
Of man proceed) as in this outward frame
Of things, the great Artificer portrays
His own immense idea. Various names
These among mortals bear, as various signs
They use, and, by peculiar organs, speak
To human sense. There are who, by the flight
Of air through tubes with moving stops distinct,
Or by extended chords, in measure taught
To vibrate, can assemble powerful sounds, 90

Expressing every temper of the mind
From every cause, and charming all the soul
With passion void of care. Others, mean time,
The rugged mass of metal, wood, or stone,
ii

146 THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION,

Patiently taming ; or with easier hand
Describing lines, and with more ample scope
Uniting colours ; can to general sight
Produce those permanent and perfect forms.
Those characters of heroes and of gods,
Which, from the crude materials of the world, 100
Their own high minds created. But the chief
Are poets ; eloquent men, who dwell on earth
To clothe whate'er the soul admires or loves
With language and with numbers. Hence to these
A field is opened wide as Nature's sphere ;
Nay, wider : various as the sudden acts
Of human wit, and vast as the demands
Of human will. The bard, nor length, nor depth,
Nor place, nor form controls. To eyes, to ears,
To every organ of the copious mind, no

He offer eth all its treasures. Him the hours,
The seasons him obey : and changeful Time
Sees him at will keep measure with his flight,
At will outstrip it. To enhance his toil,
He summoneth, from the uttermost extent
Of things which God hath taught him, every form
Auxiliar, every power ; and all beside
Excludes, imperious. His prevailing hand
Gives to corporeal essence, life, and sense,
And every stately function of the soul. ico

The soul itself, to him obsequious, lies
Like matter's passive heap ; and as he wills,
To reason and affection he assigns
Their just alliances, their just degrees :
Whence his peculiar honours : whence the race
Of men who people his delightful world,
Men genuine and according to themselves,
Transcend as far the uncertain sons of earth,
As earth itself to his delightful world,
The palm of spotless Beauty doth resign. no

ODES ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.

IN TWO BOOKS. BOOK I,
ODE I.*

PREFACE,

N yonder verdant hillock laid,
Where oaks and elms, a friendly shade^

O'erlook the falling stream,
0 master of the Latin lyre,
Awhile with thee will I retire

From summer's noontide beam.

And, lo, within my lonely bower,

The industrious bee from many a flower

Collects her balmy dews :
" For me," she sings, " the gems are born,
For me their silken robe adorn,

Their fragrant breath diffuse."

Sweet murmurer ! may no rude storm
This hospitable scene deform,

Nor check thy gladsome toils ;

* Originally entitled "Allusion to Horace," and first
published in " Odes on Several Subjects,'' 4to. 1 745.

148 ODES

Still may the buds unsullied spring,
Still showers and sunshine court thy wing
To these ambrosial spoils.

Nor shall my Muse hereafter fail,
Her fellow-labourer, thee, to hail ;

And lucky be the strains.
For long ago did Nature frame
Your seasons and your arts the same,

Your pleasures and your pains.

v.

Like thee, in lowly, sylvan scenes,
On river banks and flowery greens

My Muse delighted plays ;
Nor through the desert of the air,
Though swans or eagles triumph there,

With fond ambition strays.

Nor where the boding raven chaunts,
Nor near the owl's unhallowed haunts,

Will she her cares employ ;
But flies from ruins and from tombs,
From Superstition's horrid glooms,

To day-light and to joy.

Nor will she tempt the barren waste ;
Nor deigns the lurking strength to taste

Of any noxious thing ;
But leaves with scorn to Envy's use
The insipid nightshade's baneful juice,

The nettle's sordid sting.

BOOK T. 149

VIII.

From all which Nature fairest knows,
The vernal blooms, the summer rose,

She draws her blameless wealth ;
And, when the generous task is done,
She consecrates a double boon,

To Pleasure and to Health.

ODE IL*

OX THE WINTER SOLSTICE. 1740.

THE radiant ruler of the year
At length his wintry goal attains ;
Soon to reverse the long career,
And northward bend his steady reins.
Now, piercing half Potosi's height,
Prone rush the fiery floods of light,
Pvipening the mountain's silver stores :
While, in some cavern's horrid shade,
The panting Indian hides his head,
And oft the approach of eve implores.

IT.

But lo, on this deserted coast,
How pale the sun ! how thick the air !
Mustering his storms, a sordid host,
Lo, Winter desolates the year.

* First printed for private distribution; afterwards
altered and published in " Odes on Several Subjects" 4 to.
1745.

150 ODES.

The fields resign their latest bloom ;
ISTo more. the breezes waft perfume,
No more the streams in music roll :
But snows fall dark, or rains resound ;
And, while great Nature mourns around,
Her griefs infect the human soul.

.in.

Hence the loud city's busy throngs
Urge the warm bowl and splendid fire :
Harmonious dances, festive songs,
Against the spiteful heaven conspire.
Meantime, perhaps with tender fears.
Some village dame the curfew hears,
While round the hearth her children play :
At morn their father went abroad ;
The moon is sunk, and deep the road ;
She sighs, and wonders at his stay.

But thou, my lyre, awake, arise,

And hail the sun's returning force :

Even now he climbs the northern skies,

And health and hope attend his course.

Then louder howl the aerial waste,

B^e earth with keener cold embraced,

Yet gentle hours advance their wing ;

And Fancy, mocking Winter's might,

With flowers, and dews, and streaming light,

Already decks the new-born spring.

O fountain of the golden day !
Could mortal vows promote thy speed.
How soon before thy vernal ray
Should each unkindly damp recede !

BOOK I. 151

How soon each hovering tempest fly,
Whose stores for mischief arm the sky,
Prompt on our heads to burst amain ;
To rend the forest from the steep,
Or, thundering o'er the Baltic deep,
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain !

VI.

But let not man's unequal views
Presume o'er Nature and her laws :
'Tis his, with grateful joy, to use
The indulgence of the Sovereign Cause ;
Secure that health and beauty springs,
Through this majestic frame of things,
Beyond what he can reach to know ;
And that Heaven's all-subduing will,
With good, the progeny of ill,
Attempereth every state below.

How pleasing wears the wintry night,
Spent with the old illustrious dead !
While, by the taper's trembling light,
I seem those awful scenes to tread,
Where chiefs or legislators lie,
Whose triumphs move before my eye,
In arms and antique pomp arrayed ;
While now I taste the Ionian song,
Now bend to Plato's godlike tongue
Resounding through the olive shade.

VIII.

But should some cheerful, equal friend
Bid leave the studious page awhile,
Let mirth on wisdom then attend,
And social ease on learned toil.

152 ODES.

Then while, at love's uncareful shrine,
Each dictates to the god of wine
Her name whom all his hopes obey,
What flattering dreams each bosom warm,
"While absence, heightening every charm,
Invokes the slow-returning May !

May, thou delight of heaven and earth,

When will thy genial star arise ?

The auspicious morn, which gives thee birth,

Shall bring Eudora to my eyes.

Within her sylvan haunt, behold,

As in the happy garden old,

She moves like that primeval fair :

Thither, ye silver-sounding lyres,

Ye tender smiles, ye chaste desires,

Fond hope, and mutual faith, repair.

And if believing love can read
His better omens in her eye,
Then shall my fears, O charming maid !
And every pain of absence die :
Then shall my jocund harp, attuned
To thy true ear, with sweeter sound,
Pursue the free Horatian song ;
Old Tyne shall listen to my tale,
And Echo, down the bordering vale,
The liquid melody prolong.

BOOK I. 153

TOR THE WINTER SOLSTICE, DECEMBER 11, 1740
AS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN-

NOW to the utmost southern goal
The sun has traced his annual way,
And backward now prepares to roll,
And bless the north with earlier day.
Prone on Potosi's lofty brow,
Floods of sublimer splendour now,
Ripening the latent seeds of gold ;
Whilst, panting in the lonely shade,
Th' afflicted Indian hides his head,
Nor dares the blaze of noon behold.

But lo ! on this deserted coast,

How faint the light, how chill the air !

Lo ! armed with whirlwind, hail, and frost,

Fierce Winter desolates the year.

The fields resign their cheerful bloom,

No more the breezes breathe perfume,

No more the warbling waters roll ;

Deserts of snow fatigue the eye,

Successive tempests bloat the sky,

And gloomy damps oppress the soul.

But let my drooping genius rise,
And hail the sun's remotest ray :
Now, now he climbs the northern skies
To-morrow nearer than to-day.
Then louder howl the stormy waste,
Be land and ocean worse defaced,
Yet brighter hours are on the wing,
And Fancy, through the wintry gloom,

154 ODES.

Radiant with dews and flowers in bloom,
Already hails th' emerging spring.

0 fountain of the golden day !

Could mortal vows but urge thy speed,
How soon before thy vernal ray
Should each unkindly damp recede.
How soon each tempest, hovering, fly,
That now, fermenting, loads the sky,
Prompt on our heads to burst amain.
To rend the forest from the steep,
And, thundering o'er the Baltic deep,
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain.

But let not man's imperfect views
Presume to tax wise Nature's laws ;
'Tis his with silent joy to use
Th' indulgence of the Sovereign Cause ;
Secure that from the whole of things
Beauty and good consummate springs,
Beyond what he can reach to know,
And that the providence of Heaven
Has some peculiar blessing given
To each allotted state below.

Even now how sweet the wintry night
Spent with the old, illustrious dead !
While, by the taper's trembling light,

1 seem those awful courts to tread,
Where chiefs and legislators lie,
Whose triumphs move before my eye,
With every laurel fresh displayed ;
While, charmed, I rove in classic song,
Or bend to freedom's fearless tongue,
Or walk the academic shade.

BOOK I. J55

ODE III.

TO A FRIEND, UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE.*

INDEED, my Phsedria, if to find
That wealth can female wishes gain,
Had e'er disturbed }rour thoughtful mind,
Or caused one serious moment's pain,
I should have said that all the rules
You learned of moralists and school?,
Were very useless, very vain.

ii.

Yet I perhaps mistake the case —

Say, though with this heroic air,

Like one that holds a nobler chase,

You try the tender loss to bear,

Does not your heart renounce your tongue ?

Seems not my censure strangely wrong,

To count it such a slight affair ?

When Hesper guilds the shaded sky,
Oft as you seek the well-known grove,
Methinks I see you cast your eye
Back to the morning scenes of love :
Each pleasing word you heard her say,
Her gentle look, her graceful way,
Again your struggling fancy move.

* Originally entitled, " To a Gentleman whose Mistress
had married an Old Man," and first published in " Odes
on Several Subjects" 4to. 1745.

156 ODES.

IV.

Then -tell me, is your soul entire ?
Does Wisdom calmly hold her throne ?
Then can you question each desire,
Bid this remain, and that begone :
No tear half-starting from your eye ;
No kindling blush, you know not why ;
No stealing sigh, nor stifled groan.

Away with this unmanly mood !
See where the hoary churl appears,
Whose hand hath seized the favourite good
Which you reserved for happier years :
While, side by side, the blushing maid
Shrinks from his visage, half afraid,
Spite of the sickly joy she wears.

VI.

Ye guardian powers of love and fame,
This chaste, harmonious pair behold ;
And thus reward the generous flame
Of all who barter vows for gold.
O bloom of youth ! O tender charms !
Well-buried in a dotard's arms :
O equal price of beauty sold !

VIT.

Cease then to gaze with looks of love :

Bid her adieu, the venal fair :

Unworthy she your bliss to prove ;

Then wherefore should she prove your care ?

No : lay your myrtle garland down ;

And let awhile the willow's crown

With luckier omens bind your hair.

BOOK I. 157

VIII.

Oh ! just escaped the faithless main,
Though driven unwilling on the land ;
To guide your favoured steps again,
Behold your better Genius stand :
Where Truth revolves her page divine,
Where Virtue leads to Honour's shrine,
Behold, he lifts his awful hand.

Fix but on these your ruling aim,
And Time, the sire of manly care,
Will fancy's dazzling colours tame ;
A soberer dress will beauty wear :
Then shall esteem, by knowledge led,
Inthrone within your heart and head
Some happier love, some truer fair.

ODE IV.

AFFECTED INDIFFERENCE. TO THE SAME,

YES : you contemn the perjured maid
Who all your favourite hopes betrayed ;
Xor, though her heart should home return,
Her tuneful tongue its falsehood mourn,
Her winning eyes your faith implore,
Would you her hand receive again,
Or once dissemble your disdain,
Or listen to the syren's theme,
Or stoop to love ; since now esteem,
And confidence, and friendship, is no more.

158 ODES.

Yet tell me, Phsedria, tell me why,
When, summoning your pride, you try
To meet her looks with cool neglect,
Or cross her walk with slight respect,
(For so is falsehood best repaid)
Whence do your cheeks indignant glow ?
Why is your struggling tongue so slow ?
WThat means that darkness on your brow ?
As if with all her broken tow
You meant the fair apostate to upbraid ?

ODE V.*

AGAINST SUSPICION.

OH ! fly ; 'tis dire Suspicion's mien ;
And, meditating plagues unseen,
The sorceress hither bends :
Behold ! her touch in gall imbrued :
Behold ! her garment drops with blood
Of lovers and of friends.

ii.

Fly far : already in your eyes
I see a pale suffusion rise ;

And soon through every vein,
Soon will her secret venom spread,
And all your heart and all your head

Imbibe the potent stain.

* First published in " Odes on Several Subjects," 4to.
1745.

BOOK I. 159

Then many a demon will she raise

To vex your sleep, to haunt your ways ;

While gleams of lost delight
liaise the dark tempest of the brain,
As lightning shines across the main,

Through whirlwinds and through night.

Xo more can faith or candour move :
But each ingenuous deed of love,

Which reason would applaud.
Xow, smiling o'er her dark distress,
Fancy malignant strives to dress

Like injury and fraud,

Farewell to virtue's peaceful times :
Soon will you stoop to act the crimes

Which thus you stoop to fear :
Guilt follows guilt ; and where the train
Begins with wrongs of such a stain.

What horrors form the rear !

'Tis thus to work her baleful power,
Suspicion waits the sullen hour

Of fretfulness and strife ;
When care the infirmer bosom wrings.
Or Eurus waves his murky wincrs,

To damp the seats of life.

VII.

But come, forsake the scene unblessed
Which first beheld your faithful breast
To groundless fears a prey :

160 ODES.

Come where, with my prevailing lyre.
The skies, the streams, the groves conspire
To charm your doubts away.

Throned in the sun's descending car,
What power unseen diffuseth far

This tenderness of mind ?
What Genius smiles on yonder flood ?
What God, in whispers from the wood,

Bids every thought be kind ?

O thou, whate'er thy awful name,
Whose wisdom our untoward frame

With social love restrains ;
Thou, who, by fair affection's ties,
Giv'st us to double all our joys

And half disarm our pains ;

If, far from Dyson and from me,
Suspicion took, by thy decree,

Her everlasting flight ;
If, firm on virtue's ample base,
Thy parent hand has deigned to raise

Our friendship's honoured height ;

Let universal candour still,
Clear as yon heaven-reflecting rill,
Preserve my open mind ;

* This stanza was found in a copy presented by Aken-
side to a friend. — American editor.

BOOK I, 161

Nor this nor that man's crooked ways
One sordid doubt within me raise,
To injure human kind.

ODE VI *

HYMN TO CHEERFULNESS.

HOW thick the shades of evening close !
How pale the sky with weight of snows !
Haste, light the tapers, urge the fire,
And bid the joyless day retire.

Alas, in vain I try within

To brighten the dejected scene,
While, roused by grief, these fiery pains
Tear the frail texture of my veins ;
While Winter's voice, that storms around,
And yon deep death-bell's groaning sound,
Renew my mind's oppressive gloom,
Till starting Horror shakes the room.

Is there in nature no kind power
To soothe affliction's lonely hour ?
To blunt the edge of dire disease,
And teach these wintry shades to please ?
Come, Cheerfulness, — triumphant fair,
Shine through the hovering cloud of care :
O sweet of language, mild of mien !
O Virtue's friend and Pleasure's queen !
Assuage the flames that burn my breast,
Compose my jarring thoughts to rest ;
And, while thy gracious gifts I feel,
My song shall all thy praise reveal.

* First published in " Odes on Several Subjects " 4to.
1745.

162 ODES.

As once ('twas in Astrsea's reign)
The vernal powers renewed their train,
It happened that immortal Love
Was ranging through the spheres above,
And downward hither cast his eye,
The year's returning pomp to spy.
He saw the radiant god of day
Waft in his car the rosy May ;
The fragrant Airs and genial Hours
Were shedding round him dews and flowers ;
Before his wheels Aurora passed,
And Hesper's golden lamp was last.
But, fairest of the blooming throng,
When Health majestic moved along,
Delighted to survey below
The joys which from her presence How,
While earth, enlivened, hears her voice,
And swains, and flocks, and fields rejoice ;
Then mighty Love her charms confessed,
And soon his vows inclined her breast,
And, known from that auspicious morn,
The pleasing Cheerfulness was born.

Thou, Cheerfulness, by heaven designed
To sway the movements of the mind,
Whatever fretful passion springs,
Whatever wayward fortune brings
To disarrange the power within,
And strain the musical machine ;
Thou Goddess, thy attempering hand
Doth each discordant string command,
Refines the soft, and swells the strong ;
And, joining Nature's general song,
Through many a varying tone unfolds
The harmony of human souls.

Fair guardian of domestic life,
Kind banisher of homebred strife,

BOOK r. 163

Nor sullen lip, nor taunting eye
Deforms the scene where thou art by :
No sickening husband damns the hour
Which bound his joys to female power ;
ISTo pining mother weeps the cares
Which parents waste on thankless heirs :
The officious daughters pleased attend ;
The brother adds the name of friend :
By thee, with flowers their board is crowned ;
With songs from thee their walks resound :
And morn with welcome lustre shines,
And evening, unperceived, declines.

Is there a youth, whose anxious heart
Labours with love's unpitied smart ?
Though now he stray by rills and bowers.
And weeping waste the lonely hours,
Or if the nymph her audience deign,
Debase the story of his pain
With slavish looks, discoloured eyes,
And accents faltering into sighs ;
Yet thou, auspicious power, with ease
Canst yield him happier arts to please,
Inform his mien with manlier charms,
Instruct his tongue with nobler arms,
With more commanding passion move,
And teach the dignity of love.

Friend to the Muse and all her train,
For thee I court the Muse again :
The Muse for thee may well exert
Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art,
Who owes to thee that pleasing sway
Which earth and peopled heaven obey.
Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue
Repeat what later bards have sung ;
But thine was Homer's ancient might,
And thine victorious Pindar's flight :

184 od£s.

Thy Land each Lesbian wreath attired :
Thy lip Sicilian reeds inspired :
Thy spirit lent the glad perfume
Whence yet the flowers of Teos bloom ;
Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale
Delicious blows the enlivening gale,
While Horace calls thy sportive choir,
Heroes and nymphs, around his lyre.

But see where yonder pensive sage
(A prey perhaps to fortune's rage,
Perhaps by tender griefs oppressed,
Or glooms, congenial to his breast)
Retires in desert scenes to dwell,
And bids the joyless world farewell.
Alone he treads the autumnal shade,
Alone, beneath the mountain laid,
He sees the nightly damps ascend,
And gathering storms aloft impend ;
He hears the neighbouring surges roll,
And raging thunders shake the pole :
Then, struck by every object round,
And stunned by every horrid sound,
He asks a clue for Nature's ways ;
But evil haunts him through the maze :
He sees ten thousand demons rise
To wield the empire of the skies,
And Chance and Fate assume the rod,
And Malice blot the throne of God.

O thou, whose pleasing power I sing,
Thy lenient influence hither bring ;
Compose the storm, dispel the gloom,
Till Nature wear her wonted bloom,
Till fields and shades their sweets exhale,
And music swell each opening gale :
Then o'er his breast thy softness pour,
And let him learn the timely hour

BOOK I. 165

To trace the world's benignant laws,
And judge of that presiding cause
Who founds on discord beauty's reign,
Converts to pleasure every pain,
Subdues each hostile form to rest,
And bids the universe be blessed.

O thou, whose pleasing power I sing,
If right I touch the votive string,
If equal praise I yield thy name,
Still govern thou thy poet's flame ;
Still with the Muse my bosom share,
And soothe to peace intruding care.
But most exert thy pleasing power
On friendship's consecrated hour ;
And, while my Sophron points the road
To godlike wisdom's calm abode,
Or, warm in freedom's ancient cause,
Traceth the source of Albion's laws,
Add thou o'er all the generous toil
The light of thy unclouded smile.
But if, by fortune's stubborn sway,
From him and friendship torn away,
I court the Muse's healing spell
For griefs that still with absence dwell,
Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams
To such indulgent, placid themes,
As just the struggling breast may cheer,
And just suspend the starting tear,
Yet leave that sacred sense of woe
Which none but friends and lovers know.

166 ODES.

ODE VII.

ON THE USE OF POETRY.
I.

NOT for themselves did human kind
Contrive the parts by heaven assigned
On life's wide scene to play :
Not Scipio's force, nor Caesar's skill
Can conquer Glory's arduous hill,
If Fortune close the way.

11.

Yet still the self- depending soul,
Though last and least in Fortune's roll,

His proper sphere commands ;
And knows what Nature's seal bestowed,
And sees, before the throne of God,

The rank in which he stands.

in.

Who trained by laws the future age,
Who rescued nations from the rage

Of partial, factious power,
My heart with distant homage views ;
Content if thou, celestial Muse,

Didst rule my natal hour.

Not far beneath the hero's feet,
Nor from the legislator's seat

Stands far remote the bard.
Though not with public terrors crowned,
Yet wider shall his rule be found,

More lasting his award.

BOOK I. 167

Lycurgus fashioned Sparta's fame,
And Pompey to the Roman name

Gave universal sway :
Where are they ? — Homer's reverend page
Holds empire to the thirtieth age,

And tongues and climes obey,

And thus when William's acts divine
Xo longer shall from Bourbon's line

Draw one vindictive vow ;
When Sidney shall with Cato rest,
And Russell move the patriot's breast

"No more than Brutus now ;

VII.

Yet then shall Shakespeare's powerful art
Cer every passion, every heart,

Confirm his awful throne :
Tyrants shall bow before his laws ;
And Freedom's, Glory's, Virtue's cause,

Their dread assertor own,

ODE VIII.*

ON LEAVING HOLLAND.
I. 1.

FAREWELL to Ley den's lonely bound,
The Belgian Muse's sober seat ;

* Composed in 1744, and first published in i; Odes <
Several Subjects" 4to. 1745.

168 ODES.

Where, dealing frugal gifts around
To all the favourites at her feet,
She trains the body's bulky frame
For passive, persevering toils ;
And lest, from any prouder aim,
The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils,
She breathes maternal fogs to damp its restless
flame.

i. 2.

Farewell the grave, pacific air,
Where never mountain zephyr blew :
The marshy levels lank and bare,
Which Pan, which Ceres never knew :
The Naiads, with obscene attire,
Urging in vain their urns to flow ;
While round them chaunt the croaking choir,
And haply soothe some lover's prudent woe,
Or prompt some restive bard and modulate his lyre.

I. 3.

Farewell, ye nymphs, whom sober care of gain
Snatched in your cradles from the god of Love :
She rendered all his boasted arrows vain ;
And all his gifts did he in spite remove.
Ye too, the slow-eyed fathers of the land,
With whom dominion steals from hand to hand,
Unowned, undignified by public choice,
I go where Liberty to all is known,
And tells a monarch on his throne,
He reigns not but by her preserving voice.

ii. 1.

O my loved England, when with thee
Shall I sit down, to part no more ?
Far from this pale, discoloured sea,
That sleeps upon the reedy shore ;

BOOK 1. 169

When shall I plough thy azure tide ?
When on thy hills the flocks admire,
Like mountain snows ; till down their side
I trace the village and the sacred spire, [vide .?
While bowers and copses green the golden slope di-

ii. 2.

Ye nymphs who guard the pathless grove,
Ye blue-eyed sisters of the streams,
With whom I wont at morn to rove,
With whom at noon I talked in dreams ;
Oh ! take me to your haunts again,
The rocky spring, the greenwood glade ;
To guide my lonely footsteps deign,
To prompt my slumbers in the murmuring shade,
And soothe my vacant ear with many an airy strain.

ii. 3.

And thou, my faithful harp, no longer mourn
Thy drooping master's inauspicious hand :
Now brighter skies and fresher gales return,
Now fairer maids thy melody demand.
Daughters of Albion, listen to my lyre.

0 Phoebus, guardian of the Aonian choir,
Why sounds not mine harmonious as thy own,
When all the virgin deities above,

With Venus and with Juno, move
In concert round the Olympian father s throne ?

m. 1.

Thee too, protectress of my lays,
Elate with whose majestic call,
Above degenerate Latium's praise,
Above the slavish boast of Gaul,

1 dare from impious thrones reclaim,
And wanton sloth's ignoble charms,

170 ODES.

The honours of a poet's name,
To Soiners' counsels, or to Hampden's arms,
Thee, Freedom, I rejoin, and bless thy genuine
name,

in. 2.

Great citizen of Albion. Thee
Heroic Valour still attends,
And useful Science, pleased to see
How Art her studious toil extends :
While Truth, diffusing from on high
A lustre unconfined as day,
Fills and commands the public eye ;
Till, pierced and sinking by her powerful ray,
Tame Faith and monkish Awe, like nightly demons,

in. 3.

Hence the whole land the patriot's ardour

shares :
Hence dread Religion dwells with social Joy ;
And holy passions and unsullied cares,
In youth, in age, domestic life employ.
O fair Britannia, hail ! With partial love,
The tribes of men their native seats approve,
Unjust and hostile to each foreign fame :
But when for generous minds and manly laws

A nation holds her prime applause,
There public zeal shall all reproof disclaim.

BOOK I. 171

ODE IX.

to curio. 1744 *

THKICE hath the spring beheld thy faded
fame
Since I, exulting, grasped the tuneful shell :
Eager through endless years to sound thy name,
Proud that my memory with thine should dwell.
How hast thou stained the splendour of my choice !
Those godlike forms which hovered round thy

voice,
Laws, freedom, glory, whither are they flown ?
What can I now of thee to Time report,
Save thy fond country made thy impious sport,
Her fortune and her hope the victims of thy own ?

There are, with eyes unmoved and reckless heart,
Who saw thee from thy summit fall thus low,
Who deemed thy arm extended but to dart
The public vengeance on thy private foe.
But, spite of every gloss of envious minds,
The owl-eyed race whom virtue's lustre blinds,
Who sagely prove that each man hath his price,
I still believed thy aim from blemish free,
I yet, even yet, believe it, spite of thee
And all thy painted pleas to greatness and to vice.

* Published in 4to., 1744, as " An Epistle to Curio;"
but afterwards altered into the above Ode.

172 ODES.

" Thou didst not dream of liberty decayed,
Nor wish to make her guardian laws more strong :
But the rash many, first by thee misled,
Bore thee at length unwillingly along."
Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old,
For faith deserted, or for cities sold,
Own here one untried, unexampled deed ;
One mystery of shame from Curio learn,
To beg the infamy he did not earn [meed.

And 'scape in Guilt's disguise from Virtue's offered

IV.

For saw we not that dangerous power avowed
Whom Freedom oft hath found her mortal bane,
Whom public Wisdom ever strove to exclude,
And but with blushes suffereth in her train ?
Corruption vaunted her bewitching spoils,
O'er court, o'er senate, spread in pomp her toils,
And called herself the state's directing soul :
Till Curio, like a good magician, tried,
With Eloquence and Reason at his side, [trol.
By strength of holier spells the enchantress to con-

Soon with thy country's hope thy fame extends :
The rescued merchant oft thy words resounds :
Thee and thy cause the rural hearth defends :
His bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns :
The learned recluse, with awful zeal who read
Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead,
Now with like awe doth living merit scan :
While he, whom virtue in his blest retreat
Bade social ease and public passions meet,
Ascends the civil scene> and knows to be a man*

BOOK I. 173

At length in view the glorious end appeared :
We saw thy spirit through the senate reign ;
And Freedom's friends thy instant omen heard
Of laws for which their fathers bled in vain.
Waked in the strife the public Genius rose
More keen, more ardent from his long repose.
Deep through her bounds the city felt his call ;
Each crowded haunt was stirred beneath his

power,
And, murmuring, challenged the deciding hour
Of that too vast event, the hope and dread of all.

O ye good powers who look on human kind,
Instruct the mighty moments as they roll ;
And watch the fleeting shapes in Curio's mind,
And steer his passions steady to the goal.
O Alfred, father of the English name,
O valiant Edward, first in civil fame,
O William, height of public virtue pure,
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye,
Behold the sum of all your labours nigh,
Your plans of law complete, your ends of rule
secure.

VITT.

Twas then — O shame ! O soul from faith

estranged !
« 0 Albion, oft to flattering vows a prey !
'Twas then — Thy thought what sudden frenzy

changed ?
What rushing palsy took thy strength away ?
Is this the man in Freedom's cause approved ?
The man so great, so honoured, so beloved ?

174 ODES.

Whom the dead envied and the living blessed ?
This patient slave, by tinsel bonds allured ?.
This wretched suitor, for a boon abjured ?
Whom those that feared him, scorn ; that trusted
him, detest ?

Oh ! lost alike to action and repose ;
With all that habit of familiar fame,
Sold to the mockery of relentless foes,
And doomed to exhaust the dregs of life in shame,
To act with burning brow and throbbing heart
A poor deserter's dull exploded part,
To slight the favour thou canst hope no more,
Renounce the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind,
Charge thy own lightness on thy country's mind,
And from her voice appeal to each tame foreign
shore.

But England's sons, to purchase thence applause,
Shall ne'er the loyalty of slaves pretend;
By courtly passions try the public cause ;
Nor to the forms of rule betray the end.
O race erect ! by manliest passions moved,
The labours which to Virtue stand approved,
Prompt with a lover's fondness to survey ;
Yet, where Injustice works her wilful claim,
Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame,
Impatient to confront, and dreadful to repay.

XI.

These thy heart owns no longer. In their room
See the grave queen of pageants, Honour, dwell,
Couched in thy bosom's deep tempestuous gloom
Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell.

BOOK I. 175

Before her rites thy sickening reason flew,
Divine Persuasion from thy tongue withdrew,
While Laughter mocked, or Pity stole a sigh :
Can Wit her tender movements rightly frame
Where the prime function of the soul is lame ?
Can Fancy's feeble springs the force of Truth
supply ?

XIT.

But come : 'tis time : strong Destiny impends
To shut thee from the joys thou hast betrayed :
With princes filled, the solemn fane ascends,
By Infamy, the mindful demon, swayed.
There vengeful vows for guardian laws effaced,
From nations fettered, and from towns laid waste,
For ever through the spacious courts resound :
There long posterity's united groan
And the sad charge of horrors not their own.
Assail the giant chiefs, and press them to the ground.

In sight old Time, imperious judge, awaits :
Above revenge, or fear, or pity, just,
He urgeth onward to those guilty gates
The Great, the Sage, the Happy, and August.
And still he asks them of the hidden plan
Whence every treaty, every war began,
Evolves their secrets and their guilt proclaims :
And still his hands despoil them on the road
Of each vain wreath by lying bards bestowed,
And crush their trophies huge, and raise their
sculptured names.

XIV.

Ye mighty shades, arise, give place, attend :
Here his eternal mansion Curio seeks :

176 ot>ES.

Low doth proud Wentworth to the stranger

bend,
And his dire welcome hardy Clifford speaks :
" He comes, whom fate with surer arts prepared
To accomplish all which we but vainly dared ;
Whom o'er the stubborn herd she taught to reign ;
"Who soothed with gaudy dreams their raging

power,
Even to its last irrevocable hour ;
Then baffled their rude strength, and broke them

to the chain."

But ye, whom yet wise Liberty inspires,
Whom for her champions o'er the world she

claims,
(That household godhead whom of old your sires
Sought in the woods of Elbe and bore to Thames)
Drive ye this hostile omen far away ;
Their own fell efforts on her foes repay ;
Your wealth, your arts, your fame, be hers alone:
Still gird your swords to combat on her side ;
Still frame your laws her generous test to abide ;
And win to her defence the altar and the throne.

Protect her from yourselves, ere yet the flood
Of golden Luxury, which Commerce pours,
Hath spread that selfish fierceness through your

blood,
Which not her lightest discipline endures :
Snatch from fantastic demagogues her cause :
Dream not of Nuina's manners, Plato's laws :
A wiser founder, and a nobler plan,
O sons of Alfred, were for you assigned :
Bring to that birthright but an equal mind,
And no sublimer lot will fate reserve for man.

BOOK I. 177

ODE X.*

TO THE MUSE.

QUEEN of ray songs, karmonious maid,
Ah, why hast thou withdrawn thy aid ?
Ah, why forsaken thus my breast,
With inauspicious damps oppressed ?
Where is the dread prophetic heat,
With which my bosom wont to beat ?
Where all the bright mysterious dreams
Of haunted groves and tuneful streams,
That wooed my genius to divinest themes ?

Say, goddess, can the festal board,
Or young Olympia's form adored ;
Say, can the pomp of promised fame
Eelume thy faint, thy dying flame ?
Or have melodious airs the power
To give one free, poetic hour ?
Or, from amid the Elysian train,
The soul of Milton shall I gain,
To win thee back with some celestial strain ?

in.

O powerful strain ! O sacred soul !
His numbers every sense control :
And now again my bosom burns ;
The Muse, the Muse herself returns.

* First published in " Odes on Several Subjects" 4 to.
1745, and originally entitled, "On the Absence of the
Poetic Inclination."

N

178 ODES.

Such on the banks of Tyne, confessed,
I bailed the fair, immortal guest.
When first she sealed me for her own,
Made all her blissful treasures known,
And bade me swear to follow Her alone.

ODE XL*

ON LOVE, TO A TRIEXD.

NO, foolish youth — to virtuous fame
If now thy early hopes be vowed,
If true ambition's nobler flame
Command thy footsteps from the crowd,
Lean not to Love's enchanting snare ;
His songs, his words, his looks beware,
Nor join his votaries, the young and fair.

ii.

By thought, by dangers, and by toils,
The wreath of just renown is worn ;
Nor will ambition's awful spoils
The flowery pomp of ease adorn :
But Love unbends the force of thought ;
By Love unmanly fears are taught ;
And Love's reward with gaudy sloth is bought,

in.

Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays,
And heard from many a zealous breast,

* First published in " Odes on Several Subjects" 4to.
1745, and originally entitled, " To a Friend, on the Hazard
of falling in Love."

BOOK I. i 79

The pleasing tale of beauty's praise
In wisdom's lofty language dressed ;
Of beauty powerful to impart
Each finer sense, each comelier art,
And soothe and polish man's ungentle heart.

If then, from Love's deceit secure,
Thus far alone thy wishes tend,
Go ; see the white-winged evening hour
On Delia's vernal walk descend :
Go, while the golden light serene.
The grove, the lawn, the softened scene.
Becomes the presence of the rural queen.

Attend, while that harmonious tongue
Each bosom, each desire commands :
Apollo's lute, by Hermes strung,
And touched by chaste Minerva's hands,
Attend. I feel a force divine,
0 Delia ! win my thoughts to thine ;
That half the colour of thy life is mine.

Yet, conscious of the dangerous charm,
Soon would I turn my steps away ;
Nor oft provoke the lovely harm,
Nor lull my reason's watchful sway.
But thou, my friend — I hear thy sigh= ;

. Alas, I read thy downcast eyes ;

And thy tongue falters ; and thy colour flies.

So soon again to meet the fair ?
So pensive all this absent hour ?

180 ODES.

0 yet, unlucky youth, beware,
While yet to think is in thy power.

In vain with friendship's flattering name
Thy passion veils its inward shame ;
Friendship, the treacherous fuel of thy flame !

VIII.

Once, I remember, new to Love,
And dreading his tyrannic chain,

1 sought a gentle maid to prove
"What peaceful joys in friendship reign :
Whence we forsooth might safely stand,
And pitying view the lovesick band,

And mock the winged boy's malicious hand.

Thus frequent passed the cloudless day,
To smiles and sweet discourse resigned ;
While I exulted to survey
One generous woman's real mind :
Till friendship soon my languid breast
Each night with unknown cares possessed,
Dashed my coy slumbers, or my dreams distressed.

Fool that I was ! And now, even now,
While thus I preach the Stoic strain,
Unless I shun Olympia's view,
An hour unsays it all again.
O friend ! when Love directs her eyes
To pierce where every passion lies,
Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise ?

BOOK I. 181

ODE XII.

TO SIR FRANCIS HENRY DRAKE, BARONET.

BEHOLD ; the Balance in the sky
Swift on the wintry scale inclines ;
To earthy caves the Dryads fly,
And the bare pastures Pan resigns.
Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread,
With recent soil, the twice-mown mead,
Tainting the bloom which Autumn knows :
He whets the rusty coulter now,
He binds his oxen to the plough,
And wide his future harvest throws.

Now, London's busy confines round,
By Kensington's imperial towers,
From Highgate's rough descent profound,
Essexian heaths, or Kentish bowers,
Where'er I pass, I see approach
Some rural statesman's eager coach
Hurried by senatorial cares :
While rural nymphs (alike, within,
Aspiring courtly praise to win)
Debate their dress, reform their airs.

Say, what can now the country boast,
O Drake, thy footsteps to detain,
When peevish winds and gloomy frost
The sunshine of the temper stain ?

182 ODES.

Say, are the priests of Devon grown
Friends to this tolerating throne,
Champions for George's legal right ?
Have general freedom, equal law.
Won to the glory of Nassau
Each bold Wessexian squire and knight ?

IV.

I doubt it much ; and guess at least
That when the day, which made us free,
Shall next return, that sacred feast
Thou better may'st observe with me.
With me the sulphurous treason old
A far inferior part shall hold
In that glad day's triumphal strain ;
And generous William be revered,
~Nor one itntimely accent heard
Of James, or his ignoble reign.

Then, while the Gascon's fragrant wine
With modest cups our joy supplies,
We'll truly thank the Power divine
Who bade the chief, the patriot rise ;
Rise from heroic ease, (the spoil
Due, for his youth's Herculean toil,
From Belgium to her saviour son,)
Rise with the same unconquered zeal
For our Britannia's injured weal,
Her laws defaced, her shrines o'erthrown.

VI.

He came. The tyrant from our shore,
Like a forbidden demon, fled ;
And to eternal exile bore
Pontine rage and vassal dread.

BOOK I. 183

There sunk the mouldering Gothic reign :

New years came forth, a liberal train,

Called by the people's great decree.

That day, my friend, let blessings crown :—

Fill, to the demigod's renown,

From whom thou hast that thou art free.

Then, Drake, (for wherefore should we part
The public and the private weal ?)
In vows to her who sways thy heart,
Fair health, glad fortune, will we deal.
"Whether Aodaia's blooming cheek,
Or the soft ornaments that speak
So eloquent in Daphne's smile,
"Whether the piercing lights that fly
From the dark heaven of Myrto's eye,
Haply thy fancy then beguile .

YTII.

For so it is : — thy stubborn breast,
Though touched by many a slighter wound.
Hath no full conquest yet confessed,
Xor the one fatal charmer found.
While I, a true and loyal swain,
My fair Olympia's gentle reign
Through all the varying seasons own.
Her genius still my bosom warms ;
Xo other maid for me hath charms,
Or I have eves for her alone.

184 ODES,

ODE XIII.*

ON LYRIC POETRY.
I. 1.

ONCE more I join the Thespian choir,
And taste the inspiring fount again.

0 parent of the Grecian lyre !
Admit me to thy powerful strain.
And lo, with ease my step invades
The pathless vale and opening shades,
Till now I spy her verdant seat ;
And now at large I drink the sound,
While these her offspring, listening round,
By turns her melody repeat.

i. 2.

1 see Anacreon smile and sing ;
His silver tresses breathe perfume ;
His cheek displays a second spring
Of roses, taught by wine to bloom.
Away, deceitful cares, away,

And let me listen to his lay ;

Let me the wanton pomp enjoy,

While in smooth dance the light-winged hours

Lead round his lyre its patron powers,

Kind laughter and convivial joy.

i. 3.

Broke from the fetters of his native land,
Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords,

* First published in "Odes on Several Subjects" 4to.
1745.

BOOK I. 185

With louder impulse, and a threatening hand,
The Lesbian patriot* smites the sounding chords :
Ye wretches, ye perfidious train,
Ye cursed of gods and free-born men,

Ye murderers of the laws,
Though now ye glory in your lust,
Though now ye tread the feeble neck in dust,
Yet time and righteous Jove will judge your
dreadful cause.

ii. 1.

But lo, to Sappho's melting airs
Descends the radiant queen of love :
She smiles, and asks what fonder cares
Her suppliant's plaintive measures move :
Why is my faithful maid distressed ?
Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast ?
Say, flies he ? Soon he shall pursue :
Shuns he thy gifts ? He soon shall give :
Slights he thy sorrows ? He shall grieve,
And soon to all thy wishes bow.

But, 0 Melpomene, for whom
Awakes thy golden shell again ?
What mortal breath shall e'er presume
To echo that unbounded strain ?
Majestic in the frown of years,
Behold, the man of Thebesf appears :
For some there are, whose mighty frame
The hand of Jove at birth endowed
With hopes that mock the gazing crowd ;
As eagles drink the noontide flame,

* Alcseus. t Pindar.

186 ODES.

II.

While the dim raven beats her weary wings,
And clamours far below. — Propitious Muse,
While I so late unlock thy purer springs,
And breathe whate'er thy ancient airs infuse,
Wilt thou for Albion's sons around
(Ne'er hadst thou audience more renowned)

Thy charming arts employ,
As when the winds from shore to shore
Thro' Greece thy lyre's persuasive language bore,
Till towns and isles and seas returned the vocal joy ?

in, 1.

Yet then did pleasure's lawless throng,
Oft rushing forth in loose attire,
Thy virgin dance, thy graceful song
Pollute with impious revels dire.
O fair, O chaste, thy echoing shade
May no foul discord here invade ;
Nor let thy strings one accent move,
Except what earth's untroubled ear
'Mid all her social tribes may hear,
And Heaven's ixnerring throne approve,

in. 2.

Queen of the lyre, in thy retreat
The fairest flowers of Pindus glow ;
The vine aspires to crown thy seat,
And myrtles round thy laurel grow.
Thy strings adapt their varied strain
To every pleasure, every pain,
Which mortal tribes were born to prove ;
And straight our passions rise or fall,
As at the wind's imperious call
The ocean swells, the billows move.

187

in. 3.

When midnight listens o'er the slumbering earth,
Let me, O Muse, thy solemn whispers hear :
When morning sends her fragrant breezes forth,
With airy murmurs touch my opening ear.
And ever watchful at thy side,
Let Wisdom's awful suffrage guide

The tenor of thy lay :
To her of old by Jove was given
To judge the various deeds of earth and heaven ;
'Twas thine by gentle arts to win us to her sway.

Oft as, to well-earned ease resigned,
I quit the maze where Science toils,
Do thou refresh my yielding mind
With all thy gay, delusive spoils.
But, 0 indulgent, come not nigh
The busy steps, the jealous eye
Of wealthy care, or gainful age ;
Whose barren souls thy joys disdain,
And hold as foes to reason's reign
Whome'er thy lovely works engage.

iv. 2.

When friendship and when lettered mirth

Haply partake my simple board,

Then let thy blameless hand call forth

The music of the Teian chord.

Or, if invoked at softer hours,

Oh ! seek with me the happy bowers,

That hear Olympia's gentle tongue ;

To beauty linked with virtue's train,

To love devoid of jealous pain,

There let the Sapphic lute be strung.

188 ODES.

iv. 3.

But when from envy and from death to claim
A hero bleeding for his native land ;
When to throw incense on the vestal flame
Of Liberty, my genius gives command,
Nor Theban voice nor Lesbian lyre
From thee, O Muse, do I require ;

While my presaging mind,
Conscious of powers she never knew,
Astonished, grasps at things beyond her view,
'Nov by another's fate submits to be confined.

ODE XIV.

TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND ;
FROM THE COUNTRY.

I.

SAY, Townshend, what can London boast
To pay thee for the pleasures lost,
The health to-day resigned ;
When Spring from this her favourite seat
Bade Winter hasten his retreat,
And met the western wind.

Oh ! knew'st thou how the balmy air,
The sun, the azure heavens prepare

To heal thy languid frame,
No more would noisy courts engage ;
In vain would lying faction's rage

Thy sacred leisure claim.

BOOK I. 189

III.

Oft I looked forth, and oft admired ;
Till with the studious volume tired

I sought the open day ;
And sure, I cried, the rural gods
Expect me in their green abodes,

And chide my tardy lay.

But ah ! in vain my restless feet
Traced every silent shady seat

Which knew their forms of old :
Nor Naiad by her fountain laid,
Nor Wood-nymph tripping through her glade,

Did now their rites unfold :

Whether to nurse some infant oak
They turn the slowly-tinkling brook,

And catch the pearly showers ;
Or brush the mildew from the woods,
Or paint with noontide beams the buds,

Or breathe on opening flowers.

Such rites, which they with Spring renew,
The eyes of care can never view ;

And care hath long been mine :
And hence, offended with their guest,
Since grief of love my soul oppressed,

They hide their toils divine.

But soon shall thy enlivening tongue
This heart, by dear affliction wrung,
With noble hope inspire :

190 ODES.

Then will the sylvan powers again
Receive me in their genial tiain,
And listen to my lyre.

VIII.

Beneath yon Dryad's lonely shade
A rustic altar shall be paid,

Of turf with laurel framed :
And thou the inscription wilt approve ;
" This for the peace which, lost by love,

By friendship was reclaimed."

ODE XV.

TO THE EVENING STAK.

TO-NIGHT retired, the queen of heaven
With young Endymion stays ;
And now to Hesper it is given
Awhile to rule the vacant sky,
Till she shall to her lamp supply
A stream of brighter rays.

Ii.

O Hesper, while the starry throng

With awe thy path surrounds,
Oh ! listen to my suppliant song,
If haply now the vocal sphere
Can suffer thy delighted ear

To stoop to mortal sounds.

So may the bridegroom's genial strain

Thee still invoke to shine :
So may the bride's unmarried train

BOOK I. 19!

To Hymen chaunt their flattering vow.
Still that his lucky torch may glow
With lustre pure as thine.

Far other vows must I prefer

To thy indulgent power.
Alas, but now I paid my tear
On fair Olympia's virgin tomb :
And lo, from thence, in quest I roam

Of Philomela's bower.

Propitious send thy golden ray.

Thou purest light above :
Let no false flame seduce to stray
"Where gulf or steep lie hid for harm ;
But lead where music's healing charm

May soothe afflicted love.

To them, by many a grateful song

In happier seasons vowed,
These lawns, Olympia's haunt, belong
Oft by yon silver stream we walked.
Or fixed, while Philomela talked.

Beneath yon copses stood.

Xor seldom, where the beechen boughs

That roofless tower invade.
We came, while her enchanting Muse
The radiant moon above us held :
Till, by a clamorous owl compelled,

She fled the solemn shade.

192 ODES.

But hark ; I hear her liquid tone.

Now, Hesper, guide my feet
Down the red marl with moss o'ergrown,
Through yon wild thicket next the plain,
Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane,

Which leads to her retreat.

See the green space : on either hand

Enlarged it spreads around :
See, in the midst she takes her stand,
Where one old oak his awful shade
Extends o'er half the level mead,
Inclosed in woods profound.

x.

Hark, how through many a melting note

She now prolongs her lays :
How sweetly down the void they float !
The breeze their magic path attends ;
The stars shine out ; the forest bends ;

The wakeful heifers gaze.

Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring

To this sequestered spot,
If then the plaintive Syren sing,
Oh ! softly tread beneath her bower,
And think of Heaven's disposing power,

Of man's uncertain lot.

Oh ! think, o'er all this mortal stage.

What mournful scenes arise :
What ruin waits on kingly rage :

look i. 3 93

How often virtue dwells with woe ;
How many griefs from knowledge flow ;
How swiftly pleasure flies.

O sacred bird, let me at eve,
Thus wandering all alone,
Thy tender counsel oft receive,
Bear witness to thy pensive airs,
And pity Nature's common cares,
Till I forget my own.

ODE XVI.

TO CALEB HARDINGE, M. D.

WITH sordid floods the wintry Urn*
Hath stained fair Richmond's level green :
Her naked hill the Dryads mourn,
No longer a poetic scene.
No longer there thy raptured eye
The beauteous forms of earth or sky
Surveys, as in their Author's mind ;
And London shelters from the year
Those whom thy social hours to share
The Attic Muse designed.

From Hampstead's airy summit me
Her guest the city shall behold,
What day the people's stern decree
To unbelieving kings is told,

* Aquarius.
O

194 ODES.

When common mei? (the dread of fame)
Adjudged as one of evil name,
Before the sun, the anointed head.
Then seek thou too the pious town,
With no unworthy cares to crown
That evening's awful shade.

in.

Deem not I call thee to deplore
The sacred martyr of the day,
By fast and penitential lore
To purge our ancient guilt away.
For this, on humble faith I rest,
That still our advocate, the priest,
From heavenly wrath will save the land ;
Nor ask what rites our pardon gain,
Nor how his potent sounds restrain
The thunderer's lifted hand,

No, Hardinge : peace to church and state !
That evening, let the Muse give law,
While I anew the theme relate
Which my first youth enamoured saw.
Then will I oft explore thy thought,
What to reject which Locke hath taught,
What to pursue in Virgil's lay ;
Till hope ascends to loftiest things,
Nor envies demagogues or kings
Their frail and vulgar sway.

Oh ! versed in all the human frame,
Lead thou where'er my labour lies,
And English fancy's eager name
To Grecian purity chastise :

BOOK I. 195

While hand in hand, at Wisdom's shrine.
Beauty with truth I strive to join,
And grave assent with glad applause ;
To paint the story of the soul,
And Plato's visions to control
By Verulamian* laws.

ODE XVII.

ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY, 1747,

COME then, tell nie, sage divine^
Is it an offence to own
That our bosoms e'er incline
Toward immortal Glory's throne ?
For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure,
Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure,
So can Fancy's dream rejoice,
So conciliate Reason's choice,
As one approving word of her impartial voice,

If to spurn at noble praise
Be the passport to thy heaven,
Follow thou those gloomy ways ;
No such law to me was given :
Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me,
Faring like my friends before me ;
Nor an holier place desire
Than Timoleon's arms acquire,
And Tully's curule chair, and ]\Iilton's golden lyre.

* Verulam gave one of his titles to Francis Bacon,
author of the Novum Organum,

196 ODES.

ODE XVIII.*

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ERANC1S, EARL OF

HUNTINGDON. 1747.

I. 1.

THE wise and great of every clime,
Through all the spacious walks of time,
Where'er the Muse her power displayed,
With joy have listened and obeyed.
For, taught of heaven, the sacred Nine,
Persuasive numbers, forms divine,

To mortal sense impart :
They best the soul with glory fire ;
They noblest counsels, boldest deeds inspire ;
And high o'er fortune's rage enthrone the fixed
heart.

Nor less prevailing is their charm

The vengeful bosom to disarm ;

To melt the proud with human woe,

And prompt unwilling tears to flow.

Can wealth a power like this afford ?

Can Cromwell's arts, or Marlborough's sword,

An equal empire claim ?
No, Hastings. Thou my words wilt own :
Thy breast the gifts of every Muse hath known ;
Nor shall the giver's love disgrace thy noble name.

* First published in 4to. 1748.

BOOK I. 197

i. 3.

The Muse's awful art,
And the blest function of the poet's tongue,
Ne'er shalt thou blush to honour, to assert,
From all that scorned vice or slavish fear hath sung.
Nor shall the blandishment of Tuscan strings
Warbling at will in Pleasure's myrtle bower ;
Xor shall the servile notes to Celtic kings,
By flattering minstrels paid in evil hour,
Move thee to spurn the heavenly Muse's reign.
A different strain,
And other themes,
From her prophetic shades and hallowed streams,
(Thou well canst witness) meet the purged ear :
Such, as when Greece to her immortal shell
Rejoicing listened, godlike sounds to hear ;
To hear the sweet instructress tell
(While men and heroes thronged around)
How life its noblest use may find,
How well for freedom be resigned ;
And how, by glory, virtue shall be crowned.

ii. 1.

Such was the Chian father's strain
To many a kind domestic train,
Whose pious hearth and genial bowl
Had cheered the reverend pilgrim's soul :
"When, every hospitable rite
With equal bounty to requite,

He struck his magic strings,
And poured spontaneous numbers forth,
And seized their ears with tales of ancient worth,
And filled their musing hearts with vast heroic
things.

198 ODES.

Now oft, where happy spirits dwell,
Where yet he tunes his charming shell,
Oft near him, with applauding hands,
The Genius of his country stands.
To listening gods he makes him known,
That man divine, by whom were sown

The seeds of Grecian fame :
Who first the race with freedom fired ;
From whom Lycurgus Sparta's sons inspired ;
From whom Plataean palms and Cyprian trophies
came.

ii. 3.

O noblest, happiest age !

When Aristides ruled, and Cimon fought ;

When all the generous fruits of Homer's page
Exulting Pindar saw to full perfection brought.
O Pindar, oft shalt thou be hailed of me :
Not that Apollo fed thee from his shrine ;
Not that thy lips drank sweetness from the bee ;
Nor yet that, studious of thy notes divine,
Pan danced their measure with the sylvan throng :
But that thy song
Was proud to unfold
What thy base rulers trembled to behold ;
Amid corrupted Thebes was proud to tell
The deeds of Athens and the Persian shame :
Hence on thy head their impious vengeance fell.

But thou, O faithful to thy fame,

The Muse's law didst rightly know ;

That who would animate his lays,

And other minds to virtue raise,
Must feel his own with all her spirit glow.

BOOK I. 199

III. 1 .

Are there, approved of later times.
Whose verse adorned a tyrant's* crimes ?
Who saw majestic Rome betrayed,
And lent the imperial ruffian aid ?
Alas ! not one polluted bard,
No, not the strains that Mincius heard,

Or Tibur's hills replied,
Dare to the Muse's ear aspire ;
Save that, instructed by the Grecian lyre,
"With Freedom's ancient notes their shameful task
they hide.

in. 2.
Mark, how the dread Pantheon stands,
Amid the domes of modern hands :
Amid the toys of idle state,
How simply, how severely great !
Then turn, and, while each western clime
Presents her tuneful sons to Time,
So mark thou Milton's name ;
And add, " Thus differs from the throng
The spirit which informed thy awful song,
Which bade thy potent voice protect thy country's
fame."

in. 3.
Yet hence barbaric zeal
His memory with unholy rage pursues ;
While from these arduous cares of public weal
She bids each bard begone, and rest him with his
Muse.
0 fool ! to think the man, whose ample mind
Must grasp at all that yonder stars survey ;
Must join the noblest forms of every kind,
The world's most perfect image to display,

* Octavianus Csesar.

200 ODES.

Can e'er his country's majesty behold,
Unmoved or cold.
O fool ! to deem
That he, whose thought must visit every theme,
Whose heart must every strong emotion know,
Inspired by Nature, or by Fortune taught ;
That he, if haply some presumptuous foe,
With false ignoble science fraught,
Shall spurn at Freedom's faithful band ;
That he their dear defence will shun,
Or hide their glories from the sun,
Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand !

TV. 1.

I care not that in Arno's plain,
Or on the sportive banks of Seine,
From public themes the Muse's quire
Content with polished ease retire.
Where priests the studious head command,
Where tyrants bow the warlike hand

To vile ambition's aim,
Say, what can public themes afford,
Save venal honours to a hateful lord, [fame ?
Reserved for angry heaven, and scorned of honest

iv. 2.

But here, where Freedom's equal throne
To all her valiant sons is known ;
Where all are conscious of her cares,
And each the power that rules him, shares ;
Here let the bard, whose dastard tongue
Leaves public arguments unsung,

Bid public praise farewell :
Let him to fitter climes remove,
Far from the hero's and the patriot's love,
And lull mysterious monks to slumber in their cell.

BOOK I. 201

iv. 3.

O Hastings, not to all
Can ruling Heaven the same endowments lend :
Yet still doth Nature to her offspring call,
That to one general weal their different powers
they bend,
Unenvious. Thus alone, though strains divine
Inform the bosom of the Muse's son ;
Though with new honours the patrician's line
Advance from age to age ; yet thus alone
They win the suffrage of impartial fame.
The poet's name
He best shall prove
"Whose lays the soul with noblest passions move.
But thee, O progeny of heroes old,
Thee to severer toils thy fate requires :
The fate which formed thee in a chosen mould,
The grateful country of thy sires,
Thee to sublimer paths demand ;
Sublimer than thy sires could trace,
Or thy own Edward teach his race,
Tho' Gaul's proud genius sank beneath his hand.

v. 1.

From rich domains, and subject farms,
They led the rustic youth to arms ;
And kings their stern achievements feared ;
While private strife their banners reared.
But loftier scenes to thee are shown,
Where empire's wide established throne

No private master fills :
AVhere, long foretold, the People reigns :
Where each a vassal's humble heart disdains ;
And judgeth what he sees ; and, as he judgeth, wills.

202 ODES.

2.

Here be it thine to calm and guide
The swelling democratic tide ;
To watch the state's uncertain frame,
And baffle Faction's partial aim :
But chiefly, with determined zeal,
To quell that servile band, who kneel

To Freedom's banished foes ;
That monster, which is daily found
Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound ;
Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows.

v. 3.

?Tis highest Heaven's command,
That guilty aims should sordid paths pursue ;
That what ensnares the heart should maim the
hand,
And Virtue's worthless foes be false to glory too.
But look on Freedom : — see, thro' every age,
What labours, perils, griefs, hath she disdained ;
What arms, what regal pride, what priestly rage,
Have her dread offspring conquered or sustained ;
For Albion well have conquered. Let the strains
Of happy swains,
Which now resound
Where Scarsdale's cliffs the swelling pastures

bound,
Bear witness :— there, oft let the farmer hail
The sacred orchard which embowers his gate,
And show to strangers, passing down the vale,
Where Candish, Booth, and Osborne sate,
When, bursting from their country's chain,
Even in the midst of deadly harms,
Of papal snares and lawless arms,
They planned for Freedom this her noblest reign.

BOOK I. 203

1.

This reign, these laws, this public care,
Which JSTassau gave us all to share,
Had ne'er adorned the English name,
Could Fear have silenced Freedom's claim.
But Fear in vain attempts to bind
Those lofty efforts of the mind

Which social good inspires ;
Where men, for this, assault a throne,
Each adds the common welfare to his own ;
And each unconquered heart the strength of all
acquires.

vi. 2.

Say, was it thus, when late we viewed
Our fields in civil blood imbrued ?
When fortune crowned the barbarous ho^t.
And half the astonished isle was lost ?
Did one of all that vaunting train
Who dare affront a peaceful reign,

Durst one in arms appear ?
Durst one in counsels pledge his life ?
Stake his luxurious fortunes in the strife ?
Or lend his boasted name his vagrant friends to

cheer ?

Yet, Hastings, these are they
Who challenge to themselves thy country's love ;
The true, the constant, who alone can weigh,
What glory should demand, or liberty approve :
But let their works declare them, Thy free

powers,
The generous powers of thy prevailing mind
Xot for the tasks of their confederate hours,
Lewd brawls and lurking slander, were designed.

204 ODES.

Be thou thy own approver. Honest praise

Oft nobly sways

Ingenuous youth ;
But, sought from cowards and the lying mouth
Praise is reproach. Eternal God alone
For mortals fixeth that sublime award.
He, from the faithful records of his throne,

Bids the historian and the bard
Dispose of honour and of scorn ;
Discern the patriot from the slave ;
And write the good, the wise, the brave,
For lessons to the multitude unborn.

205

BOOK II.

ODE I,

THE REMONSTRANCE OE SHAKESPEARE :

SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE

ROYAL, WHILE THE FRENCH COMEDIANS WERE

ACTING- BY SUBSCRIPTION. 1749.

!F, yet regardful of your native land,
Old Shakespeare's tongue you deign

to understand,
Lo ! from the blissful bowers where
heaven rewards
Instructive sages and unblemished bards,
I come, the ancient founder of the stage,
Intent to learn, in this discerning age,
What form of wit your fancies have embraced,
And whither tends your elegance of taste,
That thus at length our homely toils you spurn,
That thus to foreign scenes you proudly turn,
That from my brow the laurel wreath you claim
To crown the rivals of your country's fame.

What, though the footsteps of my devious Muse
The measured walks of Grecian art refuse ?
Or, though the frankness of my hardy style,
Mock the nice touches of the critic's file ?
Yet, what my age and climate held to view,

206 ODES.

Impartial I surveyed, and fearless drew.
And say, ye skilful in the human heart,
Who know to prize a poet's noblest part,
What age, what clime, could e'er an ampler field
For lofty thought, for daring fancy, yield ?
T saw this England break the shameful bands
Forged for the souls of men by sacred hands ;
I saw each groaning realm her aid implore ;
Her sons the heroes of each warlike shore ;
Her naval standard (the dire Spaniard's bane)
Obeyed through all the circuit of the main.
Then, too, great Commerce, for a late-found world,
Around your coast her eager sails unfurled :
New hopes, new passions, thence the bosom fired ;
Xew plans, new arts, the genius thence inspired ;
Thence every scene, which private fortune knows,
In stronger life, with bolder spirit, rose.

Disgraced I this full prospect which I drew ?
My colours languid, or my strokes untrue ?
Have not your sages, warriors, swains, and kings,
Confessed the living draught of men and things ?
What other bard in any clime appears
Alike the master of your smiles and tears ?
Yet, have I deigned your audience to entice
With wretched bribes to luxury and vice ?
Or have my various scenes a purpose known
Which freedom, virtue, glory, might not own ?

Such from the first was my dramatic plan ;
It should be yours to crown what I began :
And now that England spurns her Gothic chain,
And equal laws and social science reign,
I thought, now surely shall my zealous eyes
View nobler bards and juster critics rise,
Intent with learned labour to refine
The copious ore of Albion's native mine,
Our stately Muse more graceful airs to teach.

BOOK II. 207

And form her tongue to more attractive speech,

Till rival nations listen at her feet,

And own her polished, as they own her great.

But do you thus my favourite hopes fulfil P
Is France at last the standard of your skill ?
Alas, for you ! that so betray a mind
Of art unconscious, and to beauty blind.
Say ; does her language your ambition raise,
Her barren, trivial, unharmonious phrase,
Which fetters eloquence to scantiest bounds,
And maims the cadence of poetic sounds ?
Say ; does your humble admiration choose
The gentle prattle of her Comic Muse,
While wits, plain-dealers, fops, and fools appear,
Charged to say nought but what the king may hear ?
Or rather melt your sympathising hearts,
Won by her tragic scene's romantic arts,
Where old and young declaim on soft desire,
And heroes never, but for love, expire ? •

!N o. Though the charms of novelty, awhile,
Perhaps too fondly win your thoughtless smile,
Yet not for you designed indulgent fate
The modes or manners of the Bourbon state.
And ill your minds my partial judgment reads,
And many an augury my hope misleads,
If the fair maids of yonder blooming train
To their light courtship would an audience deign.
Or those chaste matrons a Parisian wife
Choose for the model of domestic life ;
Or if one youth of all that generous band,
The strength and splendour of their native land,
Would yield his portion of his country's fame,
And quit old freedom's patrimonial claim,
With lying smiles oppression's pomp to see,
And judge of glory by a king's decree.

Oh ! blest at home with justly -envied laws,

208 ODES.

Oh ! long the chiefs of Europe's general cause,

AVhom Heaven hath chosen at each dangerous hour

To check the inroads of barbaric power,

The rights of trampled nations to reclaim,

And guard the social world from bonds and shame ;

Oh ! let not luxury's fantastic charms

Thus give the lie to your heroic arms :

Nor, for the ornaments of life, embrace

Dishonest lessons from that vaunting race,

Whom, fate's dread laws (for, in eternal fate

Despotic rule was heir to freedom's hate),

Whom, in each warlike, each commercial part,

In civil council, and in pleasing art,

The judge of earth predestined for your foes,

And made it fame and virtue to oppose.

ODE IL*

TO SLEEP.
I.

THOU silent power, whose welcome sway
Charms every anxious thought away;
In whose divine oblivion drowned,
Sore pain and weary toil grow mild,
Love is with kinder looks beguiled,
And grief forgets her fondly cherished wound ;
Oh ! whither hast thou flown, indulgent god ?
God of kind shadows and of healing dews,

* First published in " Odes on Several Subjects" 4to.
1745. It was afterwards much altered, and is now
printed from Pearch's Collection of Poems, vol. iii. p. 54,
ed. 1775.

BOOK II. 209

"Whom dost thou touch with thy Lethaean rod ?
Around whose temples now thy opiate airs diffuse ?

Lo ! Midnight from her starry reign
Looks awful down on earth and main.
The tuneful birds lie hushed in sleep,
With all that crop the verdant food,
With all that skim the crystal floodT

Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep.

No rushing winds disturb the tufted bowers ;

No wakeful sound the moonlight valley knows ;

Save where the brook its liquid murmur pours,
And lulls the waving scene to more profound repose.

Oh, let not me alone complain,
Alone invoke thy power in vain !
Descend, propitious, on my eyes ;
Not from the couch that bears a crown,
Not from the courtly statesman's down,
Nor where the miser and his treasure lies ;
Bring not the shapes that break the murderer's

rest,
Nor those the hireling soldier loves to see,
Nor those which haunt the bigot's gloomy breast :
Far be their guilty nights, and far their dreams
from me.

Nor yet those awful forms present,
For chiefs and heroes only meant :
The figured brass, the choral song,
The rescued people's glad applause,
The listening senate, and the laws
p

210 ODES.

Fixed by the counsels of Timoleon's* tongue,
Are scenes too grand for fortune's private ways ;
And. tho' they shine in youth's ingenuous view,
The sober gainful arts of modern days
To such romantic thoughts have bid a long adieu.

v.

I ask not, god of dreams, thy care
To banish Love's presentments fair :
Nor rosy cheek, nor radiant eye,
Can arm him with such strong command,
That the youug sorcerer's fatal hand
Should round my soul his pleasing fetters tie.
Nor yet the courtier's hope, the giving smile
(A lighter phantom, and a baser chain)
Did e'er in slumber my proud lyre beguile
To lend the pomp of thrones her ill-according
strain.

VI.

But, Morpheus, on thy balmy wing
Such honourable visions bring,
As soothed great Milton's injured age ;
When, in prophetic dreams, he saw
The race unborn, with pious awe,
Imbibe each virtue from his heavenly page :
Or such as Mead's benignant fancy knows
When health's deep treasures, by his art explored,
Have saved the infant from an orphan's woes,
Or to the trembling sire his age's hope restored.

* After Timoleon had delivered Syracuse from the
tyranny of Dionysius, the people on every important de-
liberation sent for him into the public assembly, asked
his advice, and voted according to it. — Plutarch.

BOOK II. 211

ODE III.

TO THE CUCKOO.
I.

O RUSTIC herald of the spring,
At length in yonder woody vale
Fast by the brook I hear thee sing ;
And, studious of thy homely tale,
Amid the vespers of the grove,
Amid the chaunting choir of love,
Thy sage responses hail !

ii.

The time has been when I have frowned
To hear thy voice the woods invade ;
And while thy solemn accent drowned
Some sweeter poet of the shade,
Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care,
Some constant youth, or generous fair,
With dull advice upbraid.

in.

I said, " While Philomela's song
Proclaims the passion of the grove,
It ill beseems a cuckoo's tongue
Her charming language to reprove" —
Alas, how much a lover's ear
Hates all the sober truth to hear,
The sober truth of love !

When hearts are in each other blessed,
When nought but lofty faith can rule

212 ODES.

The nymph's and swain's consenting breast,
How cuckoo -like in Cupid's school,
With store of grave prudential saws
On fortune's power and custom's laws.
Appears each friendly fool !

Yet think betimes, ye gentle train
Whom love and hope and fancy sway,
Who every harsher care disdain,
Who by the morning judge the day,
Think that, in April's fairest hours,
To warbling shades and painted flowers
The cuckoo joins his lay.

od;e iy.

TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND,
IN THE COUNTRY. 1750.

I. 1.

HOW oft shall I survey
This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood

shade,
The vale with sheaves o'erspread,
The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee

When will thy cheerful mind [stray ?

Of these have uttered all her dear esteem ?

Or, tell me, dost thou deem
No more to join in glory's toilsome race,

But here content embrace
That happy leisure which thou hadst resigned ?

book ir. 213

Alas, ye happy hours,
When books and youthful sport the soul could share,

Ere one ambitious care
Of civil life had awed her simpler powers ;

Oft as your winged train
Revisit here my friend in white array,

O fail not to display
Each fairer scene, where I perchance had part,

That so his generous heart
The abode of even friendship may remain !

For not imprudent of my loss to come,
I saw from Contemplation's quiet cell
His feet ascending to another home,
Where public praise and envied greatness dwell.
But shall we therefore, 0 my lyre !
Reprove ambition's best desire ?

Extinguish glory's flame ?
Far other was the task injoined
When to my hand thy strings were first assigned :
Far other faith belongs to friendship's honoured
name.

IT. 1.

Thee, Townshend, not the arms
Of slumbering ease, nor pleasure's rosy chain,

Were destined to detain :
No, nor bright science, nor the Muse's charms.

For them high Heaven prepares
Their proper votaries, an humbler band :

And ne'er would Spenser's hand
Have deigned to strike the warbling Tuscan shell,

Nor Harrington to tell
What habit an immortal city wears,

214 ODES.

Had this been born to shield
The cause which Cromwell's impious hand betrayed,

Or that, like Yere, displayed
His redcross banner o'er the Belgian field.

Yet where the will divine
Hath shut those loftiest paths, it next remains,

With reason clad in strains
Of harmony, selected minds to inspire,

And virtue's living fire
To feed and eternize in hearts like thine.

ii. 3.

For never shall the herd, whom envy sways,
So quell my purpose, or my tongue control,
That I should fear illustrious worth to praise,
Because its master's friendship moved my soul.
Yet, if this undissembling strain
Should now perhaps thine ear detain

With any pleasing sound,
Bemember thou that righteous fame
From hoary age a strict account will claim
Of each auspicious palm, with which thy youth was
crowned.

in. 1.
Nor obvious is the way
Where heaven expects thee, nor the traveller leads,

Through flowers or fragrant meads,
Or groves that hark to Philomela's lay.

The impartial laws of fate
To nobler virtues wed severer cares.

Is there a man who shares
The summit next where heavenly natures dwell ?

Ask him (for he can tell)
What storms beat round that rousrh laborious height

BOOK II. 215

in. 2.

Ye heroes, who of old
Did generous England freedom's throne ordain ;

From Alfred's parent reign
To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and bold ;

I know your perils hard,
Your wounds, your painful marches, wintry seas,

The night estranged from ease,
The day by cowardice and falsehood vexed,

The head with doubt perplexed,
The indignant heart disdaining the reward

in. 3.

Which envy hardly grants. But, O renown !

O praise from judging Heaven and virtuous men!

If thus they purchased thy divinest crown,

Say, who shall hesitate ? or who complain ?
And now they sit on thrones above :
And when among the gods they move

Before the Sovereign Mind,
" Lo, these," he saith, " lo, these are they
Who, to the laws of mine eternal sway,

From violence and fear asserted human kind."

iv. 1.

Thus honoured while the train
Of legislators in his presence dwell ;

If I may aught foretell,
The statesman shall the second palm obtain.

For dreadful deeds of arms
Let vulgar bards, with undiscerning praise,

More glittering trophies raise :
But wisest Heaven what deeds may chiefly move

To favour and to love ?
What, save wide blessings, or averted harms ?

216 ODES.

iv. 2.

Nor to the embattled field
Shall these achievements of the peaceful gown,

The green immortal crown
Of valour, or the songs of conquest, yield.

Not Fairfax, wildly bold,
While bare of crest he hewed his fatal way

Through Naseby's firm array,
To heavier dangers did his breast oppose

Than Pym's free virtue chose,
When the proud force of Strafford he controled.

iv. 3.

But what is man at enmity with truth ?
What were the fruits of Wentworth's copious
mind,
When (blighted all the promise of his youth)
The patriot in a tyrant's league had joined?
Let Ireland's loud-lamenting plains,
Let Tyne's and Humber's trampled swains,

Let menaced London tell
How impious guile made wisdom base ;
How generous zeal to cruel rage gave place ;
And how unblessed he lived, and how dishonoured
fell.

v. 1.

Thence never hath the Muse
Around his tomb Pierian roses flung :

Nor shall one poet's tongue
His name for music's pleasing labour choose.

And sure, when Nature kind
Hath decked some favoured breast above the throng,

That man with grievous wrong
Affronts and wounds his genius, if he bends

To guilt's ignoble ends
The functions of his ill- submitting mind.

BOOK II. 217

For worthy of the wise
Nothing can seem but virtue ; nor earth yield

Their fame an equal field,
Save where impartial Freedom gives the prize.

There Somers fixed his name,
Inr oiled the next to William. There shall Time

To every wondering clime
Point out that Somers, who from faction's crowd,

The slanderous and the loud,
Could fair assent and modest reverence claim.

v. 3.

Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire,
Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land
Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire,
Without his guidance, his superior hand.
And rightly shall the Muse's care
Wreaths like her own for him prepare,

Whose mind's enamoured aim
Could forms of civil beauty draw,
Sublime as ever sage or poet saw,
Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame.

vi. 1.

Let none profane be near.
The Muse was never foreign to his breast :

On power's grave seat confessed,
Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear.

And, if the blessed know
Their ancient cares, even now the unfading groves,

Where haply Milton roves
With Spenser, hear the enchanted echoes round

Through farthest heaven resound
Wise Somers, guardian of their fame below.

218 ODES.

vi. 2.

He knew, the patriot knew,
That letters and the Muse's powerful art

Exalt the ingenuous heart,
And brighten every form of just and true.

They lend a nobler sway
To civil wisdom, than corruption's lure

Could ever yet procure :
Thy too from envy's pale malignant light

Conduct her forth to sight,
Clothed in the fairest colours of the day.

vi. 3.

O Townshend ! thus may Time, the judge severe,
Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell :
And when I speak of one to freedom dear
For planning wisely and for acting well,
Of one whom glory loves to own,
Who still by liberal means alone
Hath liberal ends pursued ;
Then, for the guerdon of my lay,
" This man with faithful friendship," will I say,
" From youth to honoured age my arts and me
hath viewed!"

ODE V.

ON LOVE OF PRAISE,

OF all the springs within the mind
Which prompt her steps in fortune's maze,
From none more pleasing aid we find
Than from the genuine love of praise.

BOOK II. 219

n.

Nor any partial, private end

Such reverence to the public bears ;
Nor any passion, virtue's friend,
So like to virtue's self appears.

For who in glory can delight

Without delight in glorious deeds ?

What man a charming voice can slight,
Who courts the echo that succeeds ?

IV.

But not the echo on the voice

More, than on virtue praise, depends ;

To which, of course, its real price
The judgment of the praiser lends.

v.

If praise then with religious awe

From the sole perfect Judge be sought,

A nobler aim, a purer law,

Nor priest, nor bard, nor sage hath taught.

With which, in character the same,
Though in an humbler sphere it lies,

I count that soul of human fame,
The suffrage of the sjood and wise.

220 ODES.

ODE VI.

TO WILLIAM HALL, ESQUIRE ; WITH THE
WORKS OF CHAULIEU.

I.

ATTEND to Chaulieu's wanton lyre ;
While, fluent as the skylark sings
When first the morn allures its wings,
The epicure his theme pursues :
And tell me if, among the choir
Whose music charms the banks of Seine,
So full, so free, so rich a strain
E'er dictated the warbling Muse.

ii.

Yet, Hall, while thy judicious ear
Admires the well-dissembled art
That can such harmony impart
To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes ;
While wit from affectation clear,
Bright images, and passions true,
Recall to thy assenting view
The envied bards of nobler times :

Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong ?
This priest of Pleasure, who aspires
To lead us to her sacred fires,
Knows he the ritual of her shrine ?
Say (her sweet influence to thy song
So may the goddess still afford),
Doth she consent to be adored
With shameless love and frantic wine ?

BOOK If. 221

Nor Cato, nor Chrysippus here
Need we, in high indignant phrase,
From their Elysian quiet raise ;
But Pleasure's oracle alone
Consult, attentive, not severe.
O Pleasure, we blaspheme not thee ;
Nor emulate the rigid knee
Which bends but at the Stoic throne.

v.

We own had fate to man assigned
Nor sense, nor wish but what obey
Or Venus soft or Bacchus gay,
Then might our bard's voluptuous creed
Most haply govern human kind :
Unless perchance what he hath sung
Of tortured joints and nerves unstrung,
Some wrangling heretic should plead.

VI.

But now, with all these proud desires
For dauntless truth and honest fame,
With that strong master of our frame,
The inexorable judge within,
What can be done ? Alas, ye fires
Of love ; alas, ye rosy smiles,
Ye nectared cups from happier soils,
Ye have no bribe his grace to win!

222 odes.

ODE VII.

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND BENJAMIN, LORD
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. 1754.*

I. 1.

FOR toils which patriots have endured,
For treason quelled and laws secured,
In every nation time displays
The palm of honourable praise.
Envy may rail, and faction fierce

May strive ; but what, alas ! can those
(Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes)
To gratitude and love oppose,
To faithful story and persuasive verse ?

I. 2.

O nurse of freedom, Albion ! say,
Thou tamer of despotic sway,
What man, among thy sons around,
Thus heir to glory hast thou found ?
What page, in all thy annals bright,
Hast thou with purer joy surveyed
Than that where truth, by Hoadly's aid,
Shines through imposture's solemn shade,
Through kingly and through sacerdotal night ?

i. 3.

To Him the Teacher blessed,
Who sent religion, from the palmy field

* First published in " Dodsley's Collection of Poems,"
vol. vi. 1758.

book ii. 223

By Jordan, like the morn, to cheer the west,
And lifted up the veil which heaven from earth
concealed ;
To Hoadly thus his mandate He addressed :
" Go thou, and rescue my dishonoured law
From hands rapacious and from tongues impure :
Let not my peaceful name be made a lure
Fell persecution's mortal snares to aid :
Let not my words be impious chains to draw
The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe,
To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid,"

ii. 1.

No cold or unperforming hand
Was armed by Heaven with this command.
The world soon felt it : and, on high,
To William's ear with welcome joy
Did Locke among the blest unfold
The rising hope of Hoadly's name ;
Godolphin then confirmed the fame ;
And Somers, when from earth he came,
And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told.

ii. 2.

Then drew the lawgivers around,
(Sires of the Grecian name renowned,)
And listening asked, and wondering knew,
What private force could thus subdue
The vulgar and the great combined ;
Could war with sacred folly wage ;
Could a whole nation disengage
From the dread bonds of many an age,
And to new habits mould the public mind ?

ii. 3.

For not a conqueror's sword,
Nor the strong powers to civil founders known.

224 odes.

Were his : but truth, by faithful search explored.

And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown.
Wherever it took root, the soul (restored
To freedom) freedom too for others sought.
Not monkish craft the tyrant's claim divine,
Not regal zeal the bigot's cruel shrine,
Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage ;
Not the wild rabble to sedition wrought,
Nor synods by the papal Genius taught,

Nor St. John's spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage.

in. 1.

But where shall recompense be found ?
Or how such arduous merit crowned ?
For look on life's laborious scene :
What rugged spaces lie between
Adventurous Virtue's early toils
And her triumphal throne ! The shade
Of death, meantime, does oft invade
Her progress ; nor, to us displayed,
Wears the bright heroine her expected spoils.

in. 2.

Yet born to conquer is her power.
O Hoadly ! if that favourite hour
On earth arrive, with thankful awe
We own just Heaven's indulgent law,
And proudly thy success behold ;
We attend thy reverend length of days
With benediction and with praise,
And hail thee in our public ways
Like some great spirit famed in ages old.

in, 3.

While thus our vows prolong
Thy steps on earth, and when by us resigned

book ii. 225

Thou join'st thy seniors, that heroic throng
Who rescued or preserved the rights of human kind,
Oh ! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue
Thee still, her friend and benefactor, name :
Oh ! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes,
May impious gold, or pleasure's gaudy prize,
Make public virtue, public freedom, vile ;
Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim
That heritage, our noblest wealth and fame,
Which thou hast kept entire from force and fac-
tious s;uile.

ODE VIII.*

IF rightly tuneful bards decide,
If it be fixed in Love's decrees,
That Beauty ought not to be tried

But by its native power to please,
Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell,
What fair can Arnoret excel ?

Behold that bright unsullied smile,
And wisdom speaking in her mien :

Yet (she so artless all the while,
So little studious to be seen)

We nought but instant gladness know,

Nor think to whom the gift we owe.

* First published in Dodsley's Collection of Poems, vol
vi. edit. 1758.

226 odes.

But neither music, nor the powers,
Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer.

Add half that sunshine to the hours,
Or make life's prospect half so clear,

As memory brings it to the eye

From scenes where Amoret was by,

IV.

Yet not a satirist could there
Or fault or indiscretion find ;

'Nor any prouder sage declare
One virtue, pictured in his mind,

Whose form with lovelier colours glows

Than Amoret's demeanor shows.

v.

This, sure, is Beauty's happiest part :
This gives the most unbounded sway :

This shall enchant the subject heart
When rose and lily fade away ;

And she be still, in spite of time,

Sweet Amoret in all her prime.

ODE IX.

AT STUDY
I,

WHITHER did my fancy stray ?
By what magic drawn away
Have I left my studious theme ?
From this philosophic page,
From the problems of the sage,
Wandering through a pleasing dream ?

book ii. 227

'Tis in vain, alas ! I find,
Much in vain, my zealous mind

Would to learned Wisdom's throne
Dedicate each thoughtful hour :
Nature bids a softer power

Claim some minutes for his own.

Let the busy or the wise

View him with contemptuous eyes ;

Love is native to the heart :
Guide its wishes as you will ;
Without Love you'll find it still

Yoid in one essential part.

Me though no peculiar fair
Touches with a lover's care ;

Though the pride of my desire
Asks immortal friendship's name,
Asks the palm of honest fame,

And the old heroic lyre ;

Though the day have smoothly gone,
Or to lettered leisure known,

Or in social duty spent ;
Yet at eve my lonely breast
Seeks in vain for perfect rest :

Languishes for true content.

228 odes.

ODE X.

TO THOMAS EDWAEDS, ESQ., ON THE LATE
EDITION OF MR. POPE'S WORKS. 1751.*

I.

BELIEVE me, Edwards, to restrain
The license of a railer's tongue
Is what but seldom men obtain
By sense or wit, by prose or song :
A task for more Herculean powers,
Nor suited to the sacred hours
Of leisure in the Muse's bowers.

ii.

In bowers where laurel weds with palm,
The Muse, the blameless queen, resides :
Fair Fame attends, and Wisdom calm
Her eloquence harmonious guides :
While, shut for ever from her gate,
Oft trying, still repining, wait
Fierce envy and calumnious hate.

Who then from her delightful bounds
Would step one moment forth, to heed
What impotent and savage sounds
From their unhappy mouths proceed ?
'No : rather Spenser's lyre again
Prepare, and let thy pious strain
For Pope's dishonoured shade complain.

* First published in May, 1766, in folio.

book n. 229

Tell how displeased was every bard,
When lately in the Elysian grove
They of his Muse's guardian heard,
His delegate to fame above ;
And what with one accord they said
Of wit in drooping age misled,
And Warbur ton's officious aid :

v.

How Virgil mourned the sordid fate
To that melodious lyre assigned,
Beneath a tutor, who so late
With Midas and his rout combined,
By spiteful clamour, to confound
That very lyre's enchanting sound,
Tho' listening realms admired around :

How Horace owned he thought the fire

Of his friend Pope's satiric line

Did farther fuel scarce require

From such a militant divine :

How Milton scorned the sophist vain,

Who durst approach his hallowed strain

With unwashed hands and lips profane.

Then Shakespeare, debonair and mild,
Brought that strange comment forth to view :
Conceits more deep, he said and smiled,
Than his own fools or madmen knew ;
But thanked a generous friend above,
Who did with free adventurous love
Such pageants from his tomb remove.

230 ODES.

And if to Pope, in equal need,
The same kind office thou wouldst pay,
Then, Edwards, all the band decreed
That future bards, with frequent lay,
Should call on thy auspicious name,
From each absurd intruder's claim
To keep inviolate their fame,

ODE XL

TO THE COUNTRY GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND. 1758.*

WHITHER is Europe's ancient spirit fled ?
Where are those valiant tenants of her
shore,
Who from the warrior-bow the strong dart sped,
Or with firm hand the rapid pole-axe bore ?
Freeman and Soldier was their common name.
Who late with reapers to the furrow came,
Now in the front of battle charged the foe ;
Who taught the steer the wintry plough to

endure,
Now in full councils checked encroaching power,
And gave the guardian laws their majesty to know.

ii.

But who are ye ? from Ebro's loitering sons
To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine ;
From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones,
And cities looking on the Cimbric main ;

* First published, 4to. 1758.

BOOK II. 231

Ye lost, )re self-deserted ? whose proud lords
Have baffled your tame hands, and given your

swords
To slavish ruffians, hired for their command :
These, at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod,
See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod :
These are the Public Will, the Reason of the land.

Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while
Dost thou presume ? Oh, inexpert in arms,
Yet vain of Freedom, how dost thou beguile,
With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms ?
Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renowned,
The praise and envy of the nations round,
What care hast thou to guard from Fortune's

sway ?
Amid the storms of war, how soon may all
The lofty pile from its foundations fall,
Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day !

iv.
"No : thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales
Add Industry's wise gifts to nature's store ;
And every port is crowded with thy sails,
And every wave throws treasure on thy shore,
What boots it ? If luxurious plenty charm
Thy selfish heart from glory, if thy arm
Shrink at the frowns of danger and of pain,
Those gifts, that treasure, is no longer thine.
Oh, rather far be poor ! Thy gold will shine,
Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy
bane.

v.

But what hath Force or Y\rar to do with thee ?
Girt by the azure tide, and throned sublime

232 odes.

Amid thy floating bulwarks, tliou canst see,
With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime
Dashed ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe
Are thy fair fields : athwart thy guardian prow
ISTo bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand :
Yet say, my country, will the waves and wind
Obey thee ? Hast thou all thy hopes resigned
To the sky's fickle faith ? the pilot's wavering hand ?

For, oh, may neither fear nor stronger love,
(Love, by thy virtuous princes nobly won,)
Thee, last of many wretched nations, move,
With mighty armies stationed round the throne
To trust thy safety ! Then, farewell the claims
Of Freedom ! Her proud records to the flames
Then bear, an offering at Ambition's shrine ;
Whate'er thy ancient patriots dared demand
From furious John's, or faithless Charles's hand,
Or what great William sealed for his adopted line.

But if thy sons be worthy of their name,
If liberal laws with liberal arts they prize,
Let them, from conquest and from servile shame,
In War's glad school their own protectors rise.
Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultured plains,
Ye leaders of her bold and faithful swains,
]STow not unequal to your birth be found :
The public voice bids arm your rural state,
Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait,
And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth
around.

VIII.

Why are ye tardy ? what inglorious care
Detains you from their head, your native post ?

book ii. 233

Who moat their country's fame and fortune share,
'Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most.
Each man his task in social life sustains.
With partial labours, with domestic gains
Let others dwell : to you indulgent Heaven,
By counsel and by arms, the public cause
To serve for public love and love's applause,
The first employment far, the noblest hire, hath
given.

Have ye not heard of Lacedasmon's fame ?
Of Attic chiefs in Freedom's war divine ?
Of Koine's dread generals ? the Valerian name ?
The Fabian sons ? the Scipios, matchless line ?
Your lot was theirs : the farmer and the swain
Met his loved patron's summons from the plain ;
The legions gathered ; the bright eagles flew :
Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourned ;
The conquerors to their household gods returned,
And fed Calabrian flocks, and steered the Sabine
plough.

Shall, then, this glory of the antique age,
This pride of men, be lost among mankind ?
Shall war's heroic arts no more engage
The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind ?
Doth valour to the race no more belong ?
!No more with scorn of violence and wrong
Doth forming Nature now her sons inspire,
That, like some mystery to few revealed,
The skill of arms abashed and awed they yield,
And from their own defence with hopeless hearts
retire ?

284 odes.

O shame to human life, to human laws !
The loose adventurer, hireling of a day,
Tvrho his fell sword without affection draws,
Whose God, whose country, is a tyrant's pay,
This man the lessons of the field can learn ;
Can every palm which decks a warrior earn,
And every pledge of conquest : while in vain.
To guard your altars, your paternal lands,
Are social arms held out to your free hands :
Too arduous is the lore ; too irksome were the
pain.

XII.

Meantime by pleasure's lying tales allured,
From the bright sun and living breeze ye stray ;
And, deep in London's gloomy haunts immured.
Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's

decay.
O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue !
The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields

renew,
The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend ;
While he doth riot's orgies haply share,
Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying snare,
Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend.

XIII.

And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain
That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng ;
That the rude village-inmates now disdain
Those homely ties which ruled their fathers long.
Alas, your fathers did by other arts
Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts,
And led in other paths their ductile will ;
By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer,

book ii. 235

Won them the ancient manners to revere,
To prize their country's peace, and Heaven's due
rites fulfil.

But mark the judgement of experienced Time,
Tutor of nations, Doth light discord tear
A state ? and impotent sedition's crime ?
The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there ;
The powers who, to command and to obey,
Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway
The rising race to manly concord tame ?
Oft let the marshalled field their steps unite,
And in glad splendour bring before then1 sight
One common cause and one hereditary fame.

Nor yet be awed, nor yet your task disown,
Though war's proud votaries look on severe ;
Though secrets, taught erewhile to them alone,
They deem profaned by your intruding ear.
Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell,
Of new refinements, fiercer weapons tell,
And mock the old simplicity, in vain :
To the time's warfare, simple or refined,
The time itself adapts the warrior's mind ;
And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain,

Say then ; if England's youth, in earlier days,
On glory's field with well-trained armies vied,
Why shall they now renounce that generous

praise ?
Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride ?
Tho' Yalois braved young Edward's gentle hand,
And Albert rushed on Henry's way-worn band,

236 odes.

With Europe's chosen sons in arms renowned,
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they looked,
Nor Audley's squires, nor Mowbray's yeomen

brooked :
They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch

bound.

Such were the laurels which your fathers won ;
Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breast :
Is there no voice that speaks to every son ?
No nobler, holier call to You addressed ?
Oh ! by majestic Freedom, righteous laws,
By heavenly Truth's, by manly Reason's cause,
Awake ; attend ; be indolent no more :
By friendship, social peace, domestic love,
Rise ; arm ; your country's living safety prove ;
And train her valiant youth, and watch around
her shore.

ODE XII.

ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS ;
IN THE COUNTRY. 1758.

I.

THY verdant scenes, 0 Goulder's Hill !
Once more I seek, a languid guest :
With throbbing temples and with burdened breast
Once more I climb thy steep aerial way.
O faithful cure of oft-returning ill,
Now call thy sprightly breezes round,
Dissolve this rigid cough profound, [play.
And bid the springs of life with gentler movement

book ii. 237

How gladly 'mid the dews of dawn,
By weary lungs, thy healing gale,
The balmy west or the fresh north, inhale !
How gladly, while my musing footsteps rove
Round the cool orchard or the sunny lawn,
Awaked I stop, and look to find
What shrub perfumes the pleasant wind,
Or what wild songster charms the Dryads of the
grove !

Now, ere the morning walk is done,
The distant voice of health I hear,

Welcome as beauty's to the lover's ear.

" Droop not, nor doubt of my return," she cries ;

" Here will I, 'mid the radiant calm of noon,
Meet thee beneath yon chestnut bower,
And lenient on thy bosom pour [skies."

That indolence divine which lulls the earth and

The goddess promised not in vain :
I found her at my favourite time :
Nor wished to breathe in any softer clime,
While (half-reclined, half- slumbering as I lay)
She hovered o'er me. Then, among her train
Of Nymphs and Zephyrs, to my view
Thy gracious form appeared anew, [day.

Then first, O heavenly Muse ; unseen for many a

In that soft pomp, the tuneful maid
Shone like the golden star of love.

I saw her hand in careless measures move ;

I heard sweet preludes dancing on her lyre,

238 odes.

While my whole frame the sacred sound obeyed.
New sunshine o'er my fancy springs,
New colours clothe external things,
And the last glooms of pain and sickly plaint retire.

VI.

O Goulder's Hill ! by thee restored,

Once more to this enlivened hand,
My harp, which late resounded o'er the land
The voice of glory, solemn and severe,
My Dorian harp, shall now with mild accord

To thee her joyful tribute pay,

And send a less -ambitious lay
Of friendship and of love to greet thy master's ear

For when within thy shady seat
First from the sultry town he chose,
And the tired senate's cares, his wished repose,
Then wast thou mine ; to me a happier home
For social leisure : where my welcome feet,
Estranged from all the entangling ways
In which the restless vulgar strays,
Through Nature's simple paths with ancient Faith
might roam.

VIII.

And while around his sylvan scene

My Dyson led the white-winged hours,
Oft from the Athenian academic bowers
Their sages came : oft heard our lingering walk
The Mantuan music warbling o'er the green :

And oft did Tully's reverend shade,

Though much for liberty afraid,
With us of lettered ease, or virtuous glory talk.

book ii. 239

But other guests were on their way,
And reached ere long this favoured grove ;
Even the celestial progeny of Jove,
Bright Venus, with her all-subduing son,
Whose golden shaft most willingly obey
The best and wisest. As they came,
Glad Hymen waved his genial flame,
And sang their happy gifts, and praised their spot-
less throne.

x.

I saw when through yon festive gate
He led along his chosen maid,
And to my friend, with smiles presenting, said,
" Keceive that fairest wealth which Heaven as-
signed
To human fortune. Did thy lonely state
One wish, one utmost hope confess ?
Behold ! she comes, to adorn and bless :
Comes, worthy of thy heart, and equal to thy mind."

ODE XIII.

TO THE AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OF THE HOUSE
OF BRANDENBURGH. 1751.

I.

THE men renowned as chiefs of human race,
And born to lead in counsels or in arms,
Have seldom turned their feet from glory's chace
To dwell with books, or court the Muse's charms ;
Yet, to our eyes if haply time hath brought
Some genuine transcript of their calmer thought,

240 ODES.

There still we own the wise, the great, or good
And Caesar there and Xenophon are seen,
As clear in spirit and sublime of mien,
As on Pharsalian plains, or by the Assyrian flood.

Say thou too, Frederic, was not this thy aim ?
Thy vigils could the student's lamp engage,
Except for this ? except that future Fame
Might read thy genius in the faithful page ?
That if hereafter envy shall presume
With words irreverent to inscribe thy tomb,
And baser weeds upon thy palms to fling,
That hence posterity may try thy reign,
Assert thy treaties, and thy wars explain,
And view in native lights the hero and the king.

O evil foresight and pernicious care !
Wilt thou indeed abide by this appeal ?
Shall we the lessons of thy pen compare
With private honour, or with public zeal ?
Whence then at things divine those darts of

scorn ? [borne

Why are the woes, which virtuous men have
For sacred truth, a prey to laughter given ?
What fiend, what foe of Nature, urged thy arm
The Almighty of his sceptre to disarm ?
To push this earth adrift and leave it loose from

Heaven ?

IV.

Ye godlike shades of legislators old,
Ye who made Rome victorious, Athens wise,
Ye first of mortals, with the blessed enrolled,
Say did not horror in your bosoms rise,

BOOK II. 241

When thus, by impious vanity impelled,
A magistrate, a monarch, ye beheld
Affronting civil order's holiest bands ?
Those bands which ye so laboured to improve ?
Those hopes and fears of justice from above,
"Which tamed the savage world to your divine
commands ?

ODE XIV.

THE COMPLAINT

AWAY! away!
Tempt me no more, insidious love :
Thy soothing sway
Long did my youthful bosom prove :
At length thy treason fe discerned,
At length some dear-bought caution earned :
Away ! nor hope my riper age to move.

ii.

I know, I see
Her merit. Needs it now be shown,

Alas, to me ?
How often, to myself unknown,
The graceful, gentle, virtuous maid
Have I admired ! How often said,
What joy to call a heart like hers one's own !

in.

But, flattering god,
0 squanderer of content and ease,

In thy abode
Will care's rude lesson learn to please ?

R

242 odes.

Oh say, deceiver, hast thou won
Proud Fortune to attend thy throne,
Or placed thy friends above her stern decrees ?

ODE XV

on domestic manners.

(unfinished.)
I.

MEEK honour, female shame,
Oh ! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky,

From Albion dost thou fly ?
Of Albion's daughters once the favourite fame.

O beauty's only friend,
Who giv'st her pleasing reverence to inspire ;

Who selfish, bold desire,
Dost to esteem and dear affection turnj

Alas, of thee forlorn
What joy, what praise, what hope can life pretend ?

ii.

Behold ! our youths in vain
Concerning nuptial happiness inquire :

Our maids no more aspire
The arts of bashful Hymen to attain ;

But, with triumphant eyes
And cheeks impassive, as they move along,

Ask homage of the throng.
The lover swears that in a harlot's arms

Are found the selfsame charms,
And. worthless and deserted, lives and dies.

book ii. 243

Behold ! unblessed at home,
The father of the cheerless household mourns :

The night in vain returns,
For love and glad content at distance roam ;

"While she, in whom his mind
Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares,

To meet him she prepares,
Thro' noise and spleen, and all the gamester's art,

A listless, harassed heart,
Where not one tender thought can welcome find.

'Twas thus, along the shore
Of Thames, Britannia's guardian Genius heard,

From many a tongue preferred,
Of strife and grief the fond invective lore :

At which the queen divine,
Indignant, with her adamantine spear,

Like thunder sounding near,
Smote the red cross upon her silver shield,

And thus her wrath revealed.
(I watched her awful words and made them mine).

NOTES ON THE TWO BOOKS OF ODES.
Book i. Ode xviii. Stanza ii. 2.

>YCURGUS, the Lacedaemonian lawgiver,
brought into Greece from Asia Minor the
first complete copy of Homer's works. At
Plataea was fought the decisive battle between
the Persian army and the united militia of Greece
under Pausanias and Aristides. — Cimon the Athenian
erected a trophy in Cyprus for two great victories
gained on the same day over the Persians, by sea and
land. Diodorus Siculus has preserved the inscription
which the Athenians affixed to the consecrated spoils,
after this great success ; in which it is very remarkable
that the greatness of the occasion has raised the man
ner of expression above the usual simplicity and
modesty of all other ancient inscriptions. It is this :

E#. OY. T\ EYPQIIHN. ASIAS. AIXA. nONTOS
ENEIME.
KAI.nOAEAS.9NHTQN.0OYPOS.APH2.EnE
XET.
OYAEN. nQ. TOIOYTON. EniXGONIQN. TENET'
ANAPQN.
EPrON. EN. EnEIPQI. KAI. KATA. nONTON
AMA.
OIAE. TAP. EN. KYnPQI. MHAOYS. nOAAOYS
OAESANTES.
$OINIKQN. EKATON. NAYS. EAON. EN. nE
AArEI.

ANAPQN. nAHGOYSAS. META. A'. ESTENEN

ASIS. Yn'. AYTQN.

nAHrEIS'. AM<T>OTEPAIS. XEPSI. KPATEL

nOAEMOY.

NOTES TO THE ODES. 245

The following translation is almost literal :

Since first the sea from Asia's hostile coast

Divided Europe, and the god of war

Assailed imperious cities 5 never yet,

At once among the waves and on the shore.

Hath such a labour been achieved by men

Who earth inhabit. They, whose arms the Medes

In Cyprus felt pernicious, they, the same,

Have won from skilful Tyre an hundred ships

Crowded with warriors. Asia groans, in both

Her hands sore smitten, by the might of war.

Stanza ii. 3. Pindar was contemporary with Aristides
and Cimon, in whom the glory of ancient Greece was
at its height. When Xerxes invaded Greece, Pindar
was true to the common interest of his country ; though
his fellow-citizens, the Thebans, had sold themselves
to the Persian king. In one of his odes he expresses
the great distress and anxiety of his mind, occasioned
by the vast preparations of Xerxes against Greece.
(Isthm. 8.) In another he celebrates the victories of
Salamis, Plataea, and Himera. (Pyth. 1.) It will be
necessary to add two or three other particulars of his
life, real or fabulous, in order to explain what follows
in the text concerning him. First, then, he was thought
to be so great a favourite of Apollo, that the priests of
that deity allotted him a constant share of their offer-
ings. It was said of him, as of some other illustrious
men, that at his birth a swarm of bees lighted on his
lips, and fed him with their honey. It was also a
tradition concerning him, that Pan was heard to recite
his poetry, and seen dancing to one of his hymns on
the mountains near Thebes. But a real historical fact
in his life is, that the Thebans imposed a large fine
upon him on account of the veneration which he ex-
pressed in his poems for that heroic spirit, shewn by
the people of Athens in defence of the common liberty,
which his own fellow-citizens had shamefully betrayed.
And, as the argument of this Ode implies, that great
poetical talents, and high sentiments of liberty, do re-

246 NOTES TO THE ODES.

ciprocally produce and assist each other, so Pindar is
perhaps the most exemplary proof of this connection,
which occurs in history. The Thebans were remark-
able, in general, for a slavish disposition, through all
the fortunes of their commonwealth 5 at the time of
its ruin by Philip 5 and even in its best state, under
the administration of Pelopidas and Epaminondas : and
every one knows, they were no less remarkable for
great dulness, and want of all genius. That Pindar
should have equally distinguished himself from the rest
of his fellow-citizens, in both these respects, seems
somewhat extraordinary, and is scarce to be accounted
for but by the preceding observation.

Stanza iii. 3. Alluding to his Defence of the people
of England against Salmasius. See particularly the
manner in which he himself speaks of that undertaking,
in the introduction to his reply to Morus.

Stanza iv. 3. Edward the Third; from whom de-
scended Henry Hastings, third Earl of Huntingdon,
by the daughter of the Duke of Clarence, brother to
Edward the Fourth.

Stanza v. 3. At Whittington, a village on the edge
of Scarsdale in Derbyshire, the Earls of Devonshire
and Danby, with the Lord Delamere, privately con-
certed the plan of the Revolution. The house in which
they met is at present a farm-house, and the country
people distinguish the room where they sat, by the
name of the plotting parlour.

Book ii. Ode vii. Stanza ii. 1. Mr. Locke died in
1704, when Mr. Hoadly was beginning to distinguish
himself in the cause of civil and religious liberty : Lord
Godolphin in 1712, when the doctrines of the Jacobite
faction were chiefly favoured by those in power : Lord
Somers in 1716, amid the practices of the nonjuring
clergy against the Protestant establishment ; and Lord
Stanhope in 1721, during the controversy with the
lower house of convocation.

Ode x. Stanza v. During Mr. Pope's war with
Theobald, Concanen, and the rest of their tribe, Mr.
Warburton, the present Lord Bishop of Gloucester,

NOTES TO THE ODES. 247

did witn great zeal cultivate their friendship ; having
been introduced, forsooth, at the meetings of that
respectable confederacy ; a favour which he afterwards
spoke of in very high terms of complacency and thank-
fulness. At the same time, in his intercourse with
them, he treated Mr. Pope in a most contemptuous
manner, and as a writer without genius. Of the truth
of these assertions his lordship can have no doubt, if
he recollects his own correspondence with Concanen ;
a part of which is still in being, and will probably be
remembered as long as any of this prelate's writings.

Ode xiii. In the year 1751 appeared a very splendid
edition, in quarto, of " Memoires pour servir a PHis-
toire de la Maison de Brandenbourg, a Berlin et a la
Haye," with a privilege signed Frederic 5 the same
being engraved in imitation of hand-writing. In this
edition, among other extraordinary passages, are the
two following, to which the third stanza of this Ode
more particularly refers :

" II se fit une emigration (the author is speaking of
what happened of the revocation of the edict of Nantes)
dont on n'avoit gueres vu d'exemples dans l'histoire :
un peuple entier sortit du royaume par Pesprit de
parti en haine du pape, et pour recevoir sous un autre
ciel la communion sous les deux especes : quatre cens
mille ames s'expatrierent ainsi, et abandonnerent tous
leur biens pour detonner dans d'autres temples les
vieux pseaumes de Clement Marot." p. 163.

" La crainte donna le jour a la credulite, et l'amour
propre interessa bientot le ciel au destin deshommes.',,
p. 242.

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 1746.*

ARGUMENT.

The Nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets,
are addressed at day -break, in honour of their several
functions, and of the relations which they bear to the
natural and to the moral world. Their origin is de-
duced from the first allegorical deities, or powers of
nature, according to the doctrine of the old my thological
poets, concerning the generation of the gods and the.
rise of things. They are then successively considered,
as giving motion to the air and exciting summer-
breezes 5 as nourishing and beautifying the vegetable
creation ; as contributing to the fulness of navigable
rivers, and consequently to the maintenance of com-
merce; and by that means to the maritime part of
military power. Next is represented their favourable
influence upon health, when assisted by rural exercise :
which introduces their connection with the art of
physic, and the happy effects of mineral medicinal
springs. Lastly, they are celebrated for the friend-
ship which the Muses bear them, and for the true in-
spiration which temperance only can receive 5 in oppo-
sition to the enthusiasm of the more licentious poets.

f'ER yonder eastern hill the twilight
pale
Walks forth from darkness ; and the
God of day,
With bright Astraea seated by his side,

* First published in Dodsley's Collection of Poems, vol.
vi. edit. 1758.

HYMN TO THE NAIADS.

249

Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs,

Ye Nymphs, ye blue-eyed progeny of Thames,

Who now the mazes of this rugged heath

Trace with your fleeting steps ; who all night long

Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air,

Your lonely murmurs, tarry, and receive

My offered lay. To pay you homage due, ]o

I leave the gates of sleep ; nor shall my lyre

Too far into the splendid hours of morn

Engage your audience : my observant hand

Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam

Approach you. To your subterranean haunts

Ye then may timely steal ; to pace with care

The humid sands ; to loosen from the soil

The bubbling sources ; to direct the rills

To meet in wider channels ; or, beneath

Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon 2J

To slumber, sheltered from the burning heaven.

Where shall my songbegin, ye Nymphs ? or end ?
Wide is your praise and copious. First of things,
First of the lonely powers, ere time arose,
Were Love1 and Chaos.2 Love, the sire of Fate ;3
Elder than Chaos. Born of Fate was Time,4
Who many sons and many comely births
Devoured,5 relentless father ; till the child
Of Rhea6 drove him from the upper sky,7 £9

And quelled his deadly might. Then social reigned8
The kindred powers, Tethys, and reverend Ops,
And spotless Yesta ; while supreme of sway
Remained the Cioud-Compeller. From the couch
Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race,9
Who, from a thousand urns, o'er every clime,
Send tribute to their parent ; and from them
Are ye, O Naiads :10 — Arethusa fair,
And tuneful Aganippe ; that sweet name,
Bandusia ; that soft family which dwelt

250 HYMN TO THE NAIADS.

With Syrian Daphne ;n and the honoured tribes
Beloved of Paeon.12 Listen to my strain, 41

Daughters of Tethys ; listen to your praise.

You, Nymphs, the winged offspring,13 which of old
Aurora to divine Astrseus bore,
Owns ; and your aid beseecheth. When the might
Of Hyperion,14 from his noontide throne,
Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you
They ask ; Favonius and the mild South-west
From you relief implore. Your sallying streams15
Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart. 50

Again they fly, disporting ; from -the mead
Half- ripened and the tender blades of corn,
To sweep the noxious mildew ; or dispel
Contagious steams, which oft the parched earth
Breathes on her fainting sons. From noon to eve,
Along the river and the paved brook,
Ascend the cheerful breezes : hailed of bards
Who, fast by learned Cam, the iEolian lyre
Solicit ; nor unwelcome to the youth
Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclined 60

O'er rushing Anio, with a pious hand
The reverend scene delineates ; broken fanes,
Or tombs, or pillared aqueducts, the pomp
Of ancient Time ; and haply, while he scans
The ruins, with a silent tear revolves
The fame and fortune of imperious Borne.

You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid
The rural powers confess ; and still prepare
For you their choicest treasures. Pan commands,
Oft as the Delian king10 with Sirius holds 70

The central heavens, the father of the grove
Commands his Dryads over your abodes
To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god
Remember eth how, indulgent, ye supplied
Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime.

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 251

Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray,
Pursues your steps, delighted ; and the path
With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts
The laughing Chloris,17 with profusest hand,
Throws wide her blooms, her odours. Still with

you so

Pomona seeks to dwell : and o'er the lawns,
And o'er the vale of Eichmond, where with Thames
Ye love to wander, Amalthea18 pours,
Well-pleased, the wealth of that Ammonian horn,
Her dower ; unmindful of the fragrant isles,
ISTysaean or Atlantic. ISTor canst thou,
(Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou dost mock
The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn,
O Bromius, 0 Lenaean) nor canst thou
Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid, 90
With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me,
Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre,
Accept the rites your bounty well may claim ;
Nor heed the scoffings of the Edonian band.19

For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire,
As down the verdant slope your duteous rills
Descend, the tribute stately Thames receives,
Delighted ; and your piety applauds ;
And bids his copious tide roll on secure ;
For faithful are his daughters ; and with words 100
Auspicious gratulates the bark which, now
His banks forsaking, her adventurous wings
Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts
Extremest isles to bless. And oft at morn,
When Hermes,20 from Olympus bent o'er earth
To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill
Stoops lightly -sailing ; oft intent your springs
He views : and waving o'er some newborn stream
His blest pacific wand, " And yet," he cries, 109
" Yet," cries the son of Maia, " though recluse

252 HYMN TO THE NAIADS.

And silent be your stores, from you, fair Nymphs,

Flows wealth and kind society to men.

By you my function and my honoured name

Do I possess ; while o'er the Bcetic vale,

Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms

By sacred Ganges watered, I conduct

The English merchant : with the buxom fleece

Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe

Sarmatian kings ; or to the household gods

Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian shore, v:o

Dispense the mineral treasure,21 which of old

Sidonian pilots sought, when this fair land

Was yet unconscious of those generous arts

Which wise Phoenicia, from their native clime,

Transplanted to a more indulgent heaven."

Such are the words of Hermes : such the praise,
O Naiads, which from tongues celestial waits
Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth

power :
And those who, sedulous in prudent works,
Believe the wants of nature, Jove repays 130

With noble wealth, and his own seat on earth,
Fit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might
Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns
Not vainly to the hospitable arts
Of Hermes yield their store. For, O ye Nymphs,
Hath he not won the unconquerable queen
Of arms22 to court your friendship ? You she owns,
The fair associates who extend her sway
Wide o'er the mighty deep ; and graceful things
Of you she uttereth, oft as from the shore i-jo

Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green banks
Of Vecta, she her thundering navy leads
To Calpe's foaming channel, or the rough
Cantabrian surge ;23 her auspices divine
Imparting to the senate and the prince

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 253

Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings,
The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings
Was ever scorned by Pallas : and of old
Rejoiced the virgin, from the brazen prow
Of Athens o'er JEgina's gloomy surge,24 150

To drive her clouds and storms ; o'erwhelming all
The Persian's promised glory, when the realms
Of Indus and the soft Ionian clime,
When Libya's torrid champaign and the rocks
Of cold Imaiis joined their servile bands,
To sweep the sons of Liberty from earth.
In vain : Minerva on the bounding brow
Of Athens stood, and with the thunder's voice
Denounced her terrors on their impious heads,
And shook her burning aegis. Xerxes saw :25 160
From Heracleum, on the mountain's height
Throned in his golden car, he knew the sign
Celestial ; felt unrighteous hope forsake
His faltering heart, and turned his face with shame.
Hail, ye who share the stern Minerva's power ;
Who arm the hand of Liberty for war,
And give to the renowned Britannic name
To awe contending monarchs ; yet benign,
Yet mild of nature, to the works of peace
More prone, and lenient of the many ills 170

Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid
Hygeia well can witness ; she who saves,
From poisonous cates and cups of pleasing bane,
The wretch devoted to the entangling snares
Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him she leads
To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread the toils,
To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn
At dawn of day to summon the loud hounds,
She calls the lingering sluggard from his dreams ;
And, where his breast may drink the mountain-
breeze, 180

254 HYMN TO THE NAIADS.

And where the fervour of the sunny vale
May beat upon his brow, through devious paths
Beckons his rapid courser. Nor when ease,
Cool ease and welcome slumbers, have becalmed
His eager bosom, does the queen of health
Her pleasing care withhold. His decent board
She guards, presiding ; and the frugal powers
With joy sedate leads in : and while the brown
Ennsean dame with Pan presents her stores ;
While, changing still, and comely in the change,
Vertumnus and the Hours before him spread 391
The garden's banquet, you to crown his feast,
To crown his feast, O Naiads, you the fair
Hygeia calls ; and from your shelving seats,
And groves of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring,
To slake his veins : till soon a purer tide
Flows down those loaded channels ; washeth off
The dregs of luxury, the lurking seeds
Of crude disease, and through the abodes of life
Sends vigour, sends repose. Hail, Naiads ! hail,
Who give to labour, health ; to stooping age, 201
The joys which youth had squandered. Oft your

urns
Will I invoke ; and frequent in your praise,
Abash the frantic Thyrsus26 with my song.

For not estranged from your benignant arts
Is he, the god, to whose mysterious shrine
My youth was sacred, and my votive cares
Belong ; the learned Pa3on. Oft when all
His cordial treasures he hath searched in vain ;
When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm,
Rich with the genial influence of the sun, 211

(To rouse dark fancy from her plaintive dreams,
To brace the nerveless arm, with food to win
Sick appetite, or hush the unquiet breast
Which pines with silent passion,) he in vain

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 255

Hath proved ; to your deep mansions he descends.
Your gates of humid rock, your dim arcades,
He entereth ; where impurpled veins of ore
Gleam on the roof ; where through the rigid mine
Your trickling rills insinuate. There the god 220
From your indulgent hands the streaming bowl
Wafts to his pale-eyed suppliants ; wafts the seeds
Metallic and the elemental salts [and soon

Washed from the pregnant glebe. They drink :
Flies pain ; flies inauspicious care : and soon
The social haunt or unfrequented shade
Hears Io, Io Pasan ;27 as of old,
When Python feil. And, O propitious Nymphs,
Oft as for hapless mortals I implore
Your salutary springs, through every urn, 230
Oh, shed your healing treasures ! With the first
And finest breath, which from the genial strife
Of mineral fermentation springs, like light
O'er the fresh morning's vapours, lustrate then
The fountain, and inform the rising wave.

My lyre shall pay your bounty. Scorn not ye
That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand
Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes
Not unregarded of celestial powers,
I frame their language ; and the Muses deign 240
To guide the pious tenor of my lay.
The Muses (sacred by their gifts divine)
In early days did to my wondering sense
Their secrets oft reveal : oft my raised ear
In slumber felt their music : oft at noon,
Or hour of sunset, by some lonely stream,
In field or shady grove, they taught me words
Of power, from death and envy to preserve [mind,
The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful
And offerings unprofaned by ruder eye, zco

My vqws I send, my homage, to the seat?

256 HYMN TO THE NAIADS.

Of rocky Cirrha,23 where with you they dwell :

Where you, their chaste companions, they admit,

Through all the hallowed scene : where oft intent,

And leaning on Castalia's mossy verge,

They mark the cadence of your confluent urns,

How tuneful, yielding gratefullest repose

To their consorted measure : till again,

With emulation all the sounding choir,

And bright Apollo, leader of the song, 260

Their voices through the liquid air exalt,

And sweep their lofty strings : those powerful

strings
That charm the mind of gods i29 that fill the courts
Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet
Of evils, with immortal rest from cares ;
Assuage the terrors of the throne of Jove ;
And quench the formidable thunderbolt
Of unrelenting fire. With slackened wings,
While now the solemn concert breathes around,
Incumbent o'er the sceptre of his lord 270

Sleeps the stern eagle ; by the numbered notes,
Possessed ; and satiate with the melting tone :
Sovereign of birds. The furious god of war,
His darts forgetting, and the winged wheels
That bear him vengeful o'er the embattled plain,
Relents, and soothes his own fierce heart to ease,
Most welcome ease. The sire of gods and men,
In that great moment of divine delight,
Looks down on all that live ; and whatsoe'er
He loves not, o'er the peopled earth and o'er 280
The interminated ocean, he beholds
Cursed with abhorrence by his doom severe,
And troubled at the sound. Ye, Naiads, ye
With ravished ears the melody attend,
Worthy of sacred silence. But the slaves
Of Bacchus with tempestuous clamours strive

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 257

To drown the heavenly strains ; of highest Jove,
Irreverent ; and, by mad presumption fired,
Their own discordant raptures to advance
With hostile emulation. Down they rush eyo
From Nysa's vine-impurpled cliff, the dames
Of Thrace, the Satyrs, and the unruly Fauns,
With old Silenus, reeling through the crowd
Which gambols round him, in convulsions wild
Tossing their limbs, and brandishing in air
The ivy-mantled Thyrsus, or the torch
Thro' black smoke flaming, to the Phrygian pipe's30
Shrill voice ; and to the clashing cymbals, mixed
With shrieks and frantic uproar. May the gods
From every unpolluted ear avert 300

Their orgies ! If within the seats of men,
Within the walls, the gates, where Pallas holds
The guardian key,31 if haply there be found
Who loves to mingle with the revel-band
And hearken to their accents ; who aspires
From such instructors to inform his breast
With verse : let him, fit votarist, implore
Their inspiration. He, perchance, the gifts
Of young Lyseus, and the dread exploits,
May sing in aptest numbers : he the fate sjo

Of sober Pentheus,32 he the Paphian rites,
And naked Mars with Cytherea chained,
And strong Alcides in the spinster's robes,
May celebrate, applauded. But with you,
0 Naiads, far from that unhallowed rout,
Must dwell the man whoe'er to praised themes
Invokes the immortal Muse. The immortal Muse
To your calm habitations, to the cave
Corycian,33 or the Delphic mount,34 will guide
His footsteps ; and with your unsullied streams
His lips will bathe : whether the eternal lore 321
Of Themiss or the majesty of Jove,
s

258 HYMN TO THE NAIADS.

To mortals he reveal ; or teach his lyre
The unenvied guerdon of the patriot's toils,
In those unfading islands of the blessed,
Where sacred bards abide. Hail, honoured

Nymphs !
Thrice hail ! For you the Cyrenaic shell,35
Behold, I touch, revering. To my songs
Be present ye, with favourable feet,
And all profaner audience far remove.

^ — — ^

~ ^ a t\

^yj±f

%/^L

sife

ISPS

i^V^v

9v

NOTES OX THE HYMN TO THE NAIADS.

Ver. 25. L

| ESIOD, in his Theogony, gives a different ac-
J k count, and makes Chaos the eldest of beings ;
though he assigns to Love neither father nor
superior : which circumstance is particularly
mentioned by Phsedrus, in Plato's Banquet, as being
observable not only in Hesiod, but in all other writers,
both of verse and prose : and on the same occasion he
cites a line from Parmenides, in which Love is ex-
pressly styled the eldest of all the gods. Yet Aristo-
phanes, in " The Birds,'3 affirms, that "Chaos, and
Night, and Erebus, and Tartarus were first; and that
Love was produced from an egg} wThich the sable-
winged night deposited in the immense bosom of
Erebus. n But it must be observed, that the Love de-
signed by this comic poet was always distinguished
from the other, from that original and self- existent
being the TO ON or ArA60N of Plato, and meant only
the AHMIOYPrOS, or second person, of the old Grecian
trinity ; to whom is inscribed a hymn among those
which pass under the name of Orpheus, where he is
called Protogonos, or the first-begotten, is said to have
been born of an egg} and is represented as the prin-
cipal or origin of all these external appearances of
nature. In the fragments of Orpheus, collected by
Henry Stephens, he is named Phanes, the discoverer or
discloser ; who unfolded the ideas of the supreme intel-
ligence, and exposed them to the perception of inferior
beings in this -visible frame of the world : as Macrobius,

260 NOTES ON THE

and Proclus, and Athenagoras, all agree to interpret
the several passages of Orpheus which they have pre-
served.

But the Love designed in our text, is the one self-
existent and infinite mind, whom if the generality of
ancient mythologists have not introduced or truly de-
scribed, in accounting for the production of the world
and its appearances $ yet, to a modern poet, it can be
no objection that he hath ventured to differ from them
in this particular 5 though, in other respects, he pro-
fesseth to imitate their manner and conform to their
opinions . Por , in these great points of natural theology,
they differ no less remarkably among themselves ; and
are perpetually confounding the philosophical relations
of things with the traditionary circumstances of mythic
history 5 upon which very account, Callimachus, in his
hymn to Jupiter, declareth his dissent from them con-
cerning even an article of the national creed 5 adding
that the ancient bards were by no means to be depended
on. And yet in the exordium of the old Argonautic
poem, ascribed to Orpheus, it is said, that " Love,
whom mortals in later times call Phanes, was the father
of the eternally -begotten Night;" who is generally
represented by these mythological poets as being her-
self the parent of all things ; and who, in the " Indigi-
tamenta," or Orphic Hymns, is said to be the same
with Cypris, or Love itself. Moreover, in the body of
this Argonautic poem, where the personated Orpheus
introduceth himself singing to his lyre, in reply to
Chiron, he celebrateth " the obscure memory of Chaos,
and the natures which it contained within itself in a
state of perpetual vicissitude 5 how the heaven had its
boundary determined, the generation of the earth, the
depth of the ocean, and also the sapient Love, the most
ancient, the self- sufficient ; with all the beings which he
produced when he separated one thing from another."
Which noble passage is more directly to Aristotle's
purpose in the first book of his Metaphysics than any
of those which he has there quoted, to show that the
ancient poets and mythologists agreed with Empedocles,

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 261

Anaxagoras, and the other more sober philosophers,
in that natural anticipation and common notion of
mankind concerning the necessity of mind and reason,
to account for the connection, motion, and good order
of the world. For, though neither this poem, nor the
hymns which pass under the same name, are, it should
seem, the work of the real Orpheus : yet, beyond all
question, they are xery ancient. The hymns, more
particularly, are allowed to be older than the invasion
of Greece by Xerxes, and were probably a set of
public and solemn forms of devotion : as appears by a
passage in one of them, which Demosthenes hath
almost literally cited in his first oration against Aris-
togiton, as the saying of Orpheus, the founder of their
most holy mysteries. On this account, they are of
higher authority than any other mythological work
now extant, the Theogony of Hesiod himself not ex-
cepted. The poetry of them is often extremely noble ;
and the mysterious air which prevails in them, together
with its delightful impression upon the mind, cannot be
better expressed than in that remarkable description
with which they inspired the German editor, Eschen-
bach, when he accidentally met with them at Leipsic :
" Thesaurum me reperisse credidi/5 says he, " et pro-
fecto thesaurum reperi. Incredibile dictu quo me sacro
horrore affiaverint indigitamenta ista deorum : nam et
tempus ad illorum lectionem eligere cogebar, quod vel
solum horrorem incutere animo potest, nocturnum ;
cum enim totam diem consumserim in contemplando
urbis splendore, et in adeundis, quibus scatet urbs ilia,
viris doctis ; sola nox restabat, quam Orpheo consecrare
potui. In abyssum quendam mysteriorum venerandae
antiquitatis descendere videbar, quotiescunque silente
mundo, solis vigilantibus astris et lima, jxe\avj](pdrovg
istos hymnos ad manus sumsi."

Yer. 25.2 The unformed, undigested mass, of Moses
and Plato : which Milton calls,

" The womb of nature."
Ver. 25. 3 Fate is the universal system of natural

262 NOTES ON THE

causes ; the work of the Omnipotent Mind, or Love :
so Minucius Felix : " Quid enim aliud est fatum,
quam quod de unoquoque nostrum deus fatus est."
So also Cicero, in the First Book on Divination:
" Fatum autem id appello, quod Grreci EIPMAPME-
NHN : id est, ordinem seriemque causarum, cum causa
causae nexa rem ex se gignat — ex quo intelligitur, ut
fatum sit non id quod superstitiose, sed id quod phy-
sice dicitur causa geterna rerum." To the same pur-
pose is the doctrine of Hierocles, in that excellent
fragment concerning Providence and Destiny. As to
the three Fates, or Destinies of the Poets, they repre-
sented that part of the general system of natural causes
which relates to man, and to other mortal beings : for
so we are told in the hymn addressed to them among
the Orphic Indigitamenta, where they are called the
daughters of Night (or Love), and, contrary to the
vulgar notion, are distinguished by the eipthets of
gentle, and tender-hearted. According to Hesiod,
Theog. ver. 904, they were the daughters of Jupiter
and Themis : but in the Orphic Hymn to Venus, or
Love, that goddess is directly styled the mother of
Necessity, and is represented, immediately after, as
governing the three Destinies, and conducting the
whole system of natural causes.

Ver. 26. 4 Cronos, Saturn, or Time, was, according
to Apollodorus, the son of Cselum and Tellus. But
the author of the Hymns gives it quite undisguised by
mythological language, and calls him plainly the off-
spring of the earth and the starry heaven ; that is, of
Fate, as explained in the preceding note.

Ver. 28. 5 The known fable of Saturn devouring
his children was certainly meant to imply the dissolu-
tion of natural bodies ; which are produced and de-
stroyed by Time.
Ver. 29, 6 Jupiter, so called by Pindar.
Ver. 29. 7 That Jupiter dethroned his father Sa-
turn, is recorded by all the mythologists. Phurnutus,
or Cornutus, the author of a little Greek treatise on
the nature of the gods, informs us that by Jupiter

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 263

was meant the vegetable soul of the world, which
restrained and prevented those uncertain alterations
which Saturn, or Time, used formerly to cause in the
mundane system.

Yer. 30. 8 Our mythology here supposeth, that be-
fore the establishment of the vital, vegetative, plastic
nature (represented by Jupiter), the four elements were
in a variable and unsettled condition ; but afterwards.
well-disposed and at peace among themselves. Tethys
was the wife of the Ocean ; Ops, or Rhea, the Earth :
Vesta, the eldest daughter of Saturn, Fire 3 and the
Cloud-compeller, or Zsvg vscpeXijyepsnjc, the Air :
though he also represented the plastic principle of
nature, as may be seen in the Orphic hymn inscribed
to him.

Yer. 34. 9 The river-gods ; who, according to Hesiod's
Theogony, were the sons of Oceanus and Tethys.

Yer. 37. 10 The descent of the Naiads is less cer-
tain than most points of the Greek mythology. Homer.
Odyss. xiii. tcovpat &ioc. Yirgil, in The Eighth Book
of iEneid, speaks as if the Nymphs, or Xaiads, were
the parents of the rivers : but in this he contradicts
the testimony of Hesiod, and evidently departs from
the orthodox system, which representeth several
nymphs as pertaining to every single river. On the
other hand, Callimachus, who was very learned in all the
school-divinity of those times, in his hymn to Delos,
maketh Peneus, the great Thessalian river-god, the
father of his nymphs : and Ovid, in the fourteenth
book of his Metamorphoses, mentions the Naiads of
Latium as the immediate daughters of the neighbouring
river-gods. Accordingly, the Naiads of particular
rivers are occasionally, both by Ovid and Statius, called,
by patronymic, from the name of the river to which
they belong.

Yer. 40. ll The grove of Daphne in Syria, near
Antioch, was famous for its delightful fountains.

Yer. 41. I2 Mineral and medicinal springs. Pa?on
was the physician of the gods.

Yer. 43. I3 The TVinds : who, according to Hesiod

264 NOTES ON THE

and Apollodorns, were the sons of Astrseus and An
rora.

Ver. 46. 14 A son of Caelum and Tellus, and father
of the Sun, who is thence called, by Pindar, Hyperion-
ides. But Hyperion is put by Homer, in the same
manner as here, for the Sun himself.

Ver. 49. 15 The state of the atmosphere with re-
spect to rest and motion is, in several ways, affected
by rivers and running streams ; and that more espe-
cially in hot seasons : first, they destroy its equilibrium ,
by cooling those parts of it with which they are in
contact; and secondly, they communicate their own
motion, and the air which is thus moved by them, being
left heated, is, of consequence, more elastic than other
parts of the atmosphere, and therefore fitter to preserve
and to propagate that motion.

Ver. 70. 16 One of the epithets of Apollo, or the
Sun, in the Orphic hymn inscribed to him.

Ver. 79. 17 The ancient Greek name for Flora.

Ver. 83. 18 The mother of the first Bacchus, whose
birth and education was written, as Diodorus Siculus
informs us, in the old Pelasgic character, by Thymcetes,
grandson to Laomedon, and contemporary with Or-
pheus. Thymcetes, had travelled over Libya to the
country which borders on the western ocean 3 there
he saw the island of Nysa, and learned from the in-
habitants, that " Ammon, King of Libya, was married
in former ages to Rhea, sister of Saturn and the Titans :
that he afterwards fell in love with a beautiful virgin
whose name was Amalthea; had by her a son, and
gave her possession of a neighbouring tract of land,
wonderfully fertile ; which in shape nearly resembling
the horn of an ox, was thence called the Hesperian
horn, and afterwards the horn of Amalthea : that,
fearing the jealousy of Rhea, he concealed the young
Bacchus, with his mother, in the island of Nysa;"
the beauty of which, Diodorus describes with great
dignity and pomp of style. This fable is one of the
noblest in all the ancient my thology, and seems to have*
made a particular impression on the imagination of

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 265

Milton 5 the only modern poet (unless perhaps it be
necessary to except Spenser) who, in these mysterious
traditions of the poetic story, had a heart to feel, and
words to express, the simple and solitary genius of
antiquity. To raise the idea of his Paradise, he prefers
it even to, —

" that Nysean isle

Girt by the river Triton, where old Cham,

(Whom Gentiles Ammon call, and Libyan Jove,)

Hid Amalthea, and her florid son,

Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye."

Ver. 94. 19 The priestesses and other ministers
of Bacchus; so called from Edonus, a mountain of
Thrace, where his rites were celebrated.

Ver. 105. 20 Hermes, or Mercury, was the patron of
commerce 5 in which benevolent character he is ad-
dressed by the author of the Indigitamenta, in these
beautiful lines :

*~Epfi7jvev TTavrojv, KepdefjLTrope, \v(7ifjispif.Lve,
Oc x£Lpz<?9lv £'xft£ eiprjvrjg ottKov afisfxcpeg.

Ver. 121. 21 The merchants of Sidon and Tyre made
frequent voyages to the coast of Cornwall, from whence
they carried home great quantities of tin.

Ver. 137. 22 Mercury, the patron of commerce,
being so greatly dependent on the good offices of the
Naiads, in return obtains for them the friendship of
Minerva, the goddess of war : for military power, at
least the naval part of it, hath constantly followed the
establishment of trade ; which exemplifies the preced-
ing observation, that " from bounty issueth power."

Ver. 144. 23 Gibraltar and the Bay of Biscay.

Ver. 150. 24 Near this island, the Athenians ob-
tained the victory of Salamis, over the Persian navy.

Ver. 160. 25 This circumstance is recorded in that
passage, perhaps the most splendid among all the re-
mains of ancient history, where Plutarch, in his Life
of Themistocles, describes the sea-fights of Artemisium
and Salamis.

266 NOTES ON THE

Yer. 204. 26 A staff, or spear, wreathed round with
ivy .- of constant use in the Bacchanalian mysteries.

Yer. 227. 27 An exclamation of victory and triumph,
derived from Apollo's encounter with Python.

Yer. 252. 28 One of the summits of Parnassus, and
sacred to Apollo. Near it were several fountains,
said to be frequented by the Muses. Nysa, the other
eminence of the same mountain, was dedicated to Bac-
chus.

Yer. 263. 29 This whole passage, concerning the
effects of sacred music among the gods, is taken from
Pindar's first Pythian Ode.

Yer. 297. 30 The Phrygian music was fantastic
and turbulent, and fit to excite disorderly passions.

Yer. 303. 3l It was the office of Minerva to be the
guardian of walled cities ; whence she was named
nOAIAS and II0AI0YX02, and had her statues
placed in their gates, being supposed to keep the keys ;
and on that account styled KAHA0YX02.

Yer. 311. 32 Pentheus was torn in pieces by the
Bacchanalian priests and women, for despising their
mysteries.

Yer. 319. 33 Of this cave, Pausanias, in his Tenth
Book, gives the following description : " Between
Delphi and the eminences of Parnassus, is a road to
the grotto of Corycium, which has its name from the
nymph Corycia, and is by far the most remarkable
which I have seen. One may walk a great way into
it without a torch. 'Tis of a considerable height, and
hath several springs within it ; and yet a much greater
quantity of water distils from the shell and roof, so as
to be continually dropping on the ground. The people
round Parnassus hold it sacred to the Corycian nymphs
and to Pan.'5

Yer. 319. 34 Delphi, the seat and oracle of Apollo,
had a mountainous and rocky situation, on the skirts of
Parnassus.

Yer. 327. 35 Cyrene was the native country of
Callimachus, whose hymns are the most remarkable
example of that mythological passion, which is assumed

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 267

in the preceding poem, and have always afforded
particular pleasure to the author of it, by reason of the
mysterious solemnity with which they affect the mind.
On this account he was induced to attempt somewhat
in the same manner 5 solely by way of exercise : the
manner itself being now almost entirely abandoned
in poetry. And as the mere genealogy, or the per-
sonal adventures of heathen gods, could have been
but little interesting to a modern reader ; it was
therefore thought proper to select some convenient part
of the history of nature, and to employ these ancient
divinities as it is probable they were first employed 5 to
wit, in personifying natural causes, and in representing
the mutual agreement or opposition of the corporeal
and moral powers of the world : which hath been ac-
counted the very highest office of poetry.

INSCRIPTIONS.*
I.

FOR A GROTTO.

I O me, whom, in their lays, the shepherds
call

JjActasa, daughter of the neighbouring
stream,

This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine,
Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot,
Were placed by Glycon. He, with cowslips pale,
Primrose, and purple lychnis, decked the green
Before my threshold, and my shelvin & walls
With honeysuckle covered. Here, at noon,
Lulled by the murmur of my rising fount,
I slumber : here my clustering fruits I tend ;
Or from the humid flowers at break of day,
Fresh garlands weave, and chase from all my

bounds
Each thing impure or noxious. Enter in,
O stranger, undismayed. ]STor bat, nor toad
Here lurks : and, if thy breast of blameless thoughts
Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread
My quiet mansion : chiefly, if thy name
Wise Pallas and the immortal Muses own.

* I — VI were first published in Dodsley's Collection
of Poems, vol. vi. 1758.

INSCRIPTIONS. 269

II.

FOR A STATUE OF CHAUCER AT WOODSTOCK.

SUCH was old Chaucer. Such the placid mien
Of him who first with harmony informed
The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt
For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls
Have often heard him, while his legends blithe
He sang ; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles
Of homely life : through each estate and age,
The fashions and the follies of the world
With cunning hand portraying. Though perchance
From Blenheim's towers, 0 stranger, thou art come,
Glowing with Churchill's trophies ; yet in vain
Dost thou applaud them, if thy breast be cold
To him, this other hero ; who, in times
Dark and untaught, began with charming verse
To tame the rudeness of his native land.

III.

WHOE'ER thou art whose path in summer
lies
Thro' yonder village, turn thee where the grove
Of branching oaks a rural palace old
Imbosoms. There dwells Albert, generous lord
Of all the harvest round. And onward thence
A low plain chapel fronts the morning light
Fast by a silent rivulet. Humbly walk,
0 stranger, o'er the consecrated ground ;
And on that verdant hillock, which thou seest

270 INSCRIPTIONS.

Beset with osiers, let thy pious hand
Sprinkle fresh water from the brook, and strew
Sweet-smelling flowers. For there doth Edmund
The learned shepherd ; for each rural art [rest,
Famed, and for songs harmonious, and the woes
Of ill-requited love. The faithless pride
Of fair Matilda sank him to the grave [ven

In manhood's prime. But soon did righteous Hea-
With tears, with sharp remorse, and pining care,
Avenge her falsehood. Nor could all the gold
And nuptial pomp, which lured her plighted faith
From Edmund to a loftier husband's home,
Believe her breaking heart, or turn aside
The strokes of death. Go, traveller ; relate
The mournful story. Haply some fair maid
May hold it in remembrance, and be taught
That riches cannot pay for truth or love.

IV.

TOR A STATUE OF SHAKESPEARE.

O YOUTHS and virgins ! O declining eld !
O pale misfortune's slaves ! O ye who dwell
Unknown with humble quiet ; ye who wait
In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings !
O sons of sport and pleasure ! O thou wretch
That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds
Of conscious guilt, or death's rapacious hand
Which left thee void of hope ! O ye who roam
In exile ; ye who through the embattled field
Seek bright renown ; or who for nobler palms
Contend, the leaders of a public cause ;
Approach ! behold this marble. Know ye not

INSCRIPTIONS. 271

The features ? Hath not oft his faithful tongue
Told you the fashion of your own estate,
The secrets of your bosom ? Here, then, round
His monument with reverence while ye stand,
Say to each other : " This was Shakespeare's form ;
Who walked in every path of human life,
Felt every passion, and to all mankind
Doth now, will ever, that experience yield
Which his own genius only could acquire,"

V.

ON WILLIAM THE THIRD.

GVLIELMVS III. FORTIS, PIVS, LIBERATOR, CVM

INEVNTE AETATE PATRIAE LABENTI ADFVISSET

SAEVS IPSE VNICA ; CVM MOX ITIDEM REIPVBLICAE

BRITANNICAE VINE-EX RENVNCIATVS ESSET ATQVE

STATOR ; TVM DENIQVE AD ID SE NATVM RECOGNO-

VIT ET REGEM FACTVM, VT CVRARET NE DOMIKO

IMPOTENTI CEDERENT PAX, FIDES, FORTVNA,

GENERIS HVMA1NT. AVCTORI PVBLICAE

FELICITATIS P. G. A.M. A.

VI.
FOR A COLUMN AT RUNNYMEDE.

THOU, who the verdant plain dost traverse
here,
While Thames among his willows from thy view
Retires ; O stranger, stay thee, and the scene
Around contemplate well. This is the place

272 INSCRIPTIONS.

Where England's ancient barons, clad in arms
And stern with conquest, from their tyrant king
(Then rendered tame) did challenge and secure
The charter of thy freedom. Pass not on
Till thou hast blessed their memory, and paid
Those thanks which God appointed the reward
Of public virtue. And if chance thy home
Salute thee with a father's honoured name,
Go, call thy sons, instruct them what a debt
They owe their ancestors ; and make them swear
To pay it, by transmitting down entire
Those sacred rights to which themselves were born.

VII.

THE WOOD NYMPH.

APPROACH in silence. 'Tis no vulgar tale
Which I, the Dryad of this hoary oak,
Pronounce to mortal ears. The second age
Now hasteneth to its period, since I rose
On this fair lawn. The groves of yonder vale
Are, all, my offspring : and each Nymph, who

guards
The copses and the furrowed fields beyond,
Obeys me. Many changes have I seen
In human things, and many awful deeds
Of justice, when the ruling hand of Jove,
Against the tyrants of the land, against
The unhallowed sons of luxury and guile,
Was armed for retribution. Thus at length,
Expert in laws divine, I know the paths
Of wisdom, and erroneous folly's end
Have oft presaged : and now well-pleased I wait

INSCRIPTIONS. 273

Each evening till a noble youth, who loves
My shade, awhile released from public cares,
Yon peaceful gate shall enter, and sit down
Beneath my branches. Then his musing mind
I prompt, unseen ; and place before his view
Sincerest forms of good ; and move his heart
With the dread bounties of the sire supreme
Of gods and men, with freedom's generous deed?,
The lofty voice of glory, and the faith
Of sacred friendship. Stranger, I have told
My function. If within thy bosom dwell
Aught which may challenge praise, thou wilt not

leave
Unhonoured my abode, nor shall I hear
A sparing benediction from thy tongue.

VIII.

YE powers unseen, to whom the bards of
Greece
Erected altars ; ye, who to the mind
More lofty views unfold, and prompt the heart
With more divine emotions ; if erewhile
Not quite unpleasing have my votive rites
Of you been deemed, when oft this lonely seat
To you I consecrated ; then vouchsafe
Here with your instant energy to crown
My happy solitude. It is the hour
When most I love to invoke you, and have felt
Most frequent your glad ministry divine.
The air is calm : the sun's unveiled orb
Shines in the middle heaven. The harvest round
Stands quiet, and among the golden sheaves
The reapers lie reclined. The neighbouring groves
Are mute ; nor even a linnet's random strain

274 INSCRIPTIONS.

Echoeth amid the silence. Let me feel
Your influence, ye kind powers. Aloft in heaven,
Abide ye ? or on those transparent clouds
Pass ye from hill to hill ? or, on the shades
Which yonder elms cast o'er the lake below,
Do you converse retired ? From what loved haunt
Shall I expect you ? Let me once more feel
Your influence, O ye kind inspiring powers,
And I will guard it well ; nor shall a thought
Rise in my mind, nor shall a passion move
Across my bosom unobserved, unstored
By faithful memory. And then, at some
More active moment, will I call them forth
Anew ; and join them in majestic forms,
And give them utterance in harmonious strains ;
That all mankind shall wonder at your sway.

IX.

ME though in life's sequestered vale
The Almighty Sire ordained to dwell,
Remote from glory's toilsome ways,
And the great scenes of public praise ;
Yet let me still with grateful pride
Remember how my infant frame
He tempered with prophetic flame,
And early music to my tongue supplied.

'Twas then my future fate he weighed,
And, this be thy concern, he said,
At once with Passion's keen alarms,
And Beauty's pleasurable charms,
And sacred Truth's eternal light,
To move the various mind of Man;
Till, under one unblemished plan,
His Reason, Fancy, and his Heart unite.

AN EPISTLE TO CURIO.'

^HRICE has the spring beheld thy faded

fame,
And the fourth winter rises on thy

shame,

Since I, exulting, grasped the votive shell,
In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell ;
Blest could my skill through ages make thee shine,
And proud to mix my memory with thine.
But now the cause that waked my song before,
With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil no more.

* First published in 1744; when a celebrated patriot,
after a long, and at last successful opposition to an un-
popular minister, had deserted the cause of his country,
and become the foremost in support and defence of the
measures he had so steadily and for such a length of time
contended against. It "was afterwards altered into an
"Ode to Curio." See page 171.

Curio was a young Eoman senator of distinguished
birth and parts, who, upon his first entrance into the forum,
had been committed to the care of Cicero. Being profuse
and extravagant, he soon dissipated a large and splendid
fortune ; to supply the want of which, he was driven to
the necessity of abetting the designs of Cagsar against the
liberties of his country, although he had before been a
professed enemy to him. Cicero exerted himself with
great energy to prevent his ruin, but without effect, and
he became one of the first victims in the civil war.

276 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO.

If to the glorious man whose faithful cares,
Xor quelled by malice, nor relaxed by years,
Had awed ambition's wild audacious hate,
And dragged at length corruption to her fate ;
If every tongue its large applauses owed,
And well-earned laurels every Muse bestowed ;
If public justice urged the high reward,
And freedom smiled on the devoted bard ;
Say then, to him whose levity or lust
Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust ;
Who taught ambition firmer heights of power,
And saved corruption at her hopeless hour ;
Does not each tongue its execrations owe ?
Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame bestow ?
And public justice sanctify th' award ?
And Freedom's hand protect thejmpartial bard :

Yet, long reluctant, I forbore thy name,
Long watched thy virtue like a dying flame,
Hung o'er each glimmering spark with anxious eyes,
And wished and hoped the light again would rise.
But since thy guilt still more entire appears,
Since no art hides, no supposition clears ;
Since vengeful slander now, too, sinks her blast.
And the first rage of party-hate is past ;
Calm as the judge of truth, at length I come
To weigh thy merits, and pronounce thy doom :
So may my trust from all reproach be free ;
And earth and time confirm the fair decree.

There are who say they viewed without amaze
The sad reverse of all thy former praise :
That, through the pageants of a patriot's name,
They pierced the foulness of thy secret aim ;
Or deemed thy arm exalted but to throw
The public thunder on a private foe.
But I, whose soul consented to thy cause,
Who felt thy genius stamp its own applause,

AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 277

Who saw the spirits of each glorious age
Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage ;
I scorned the ungenerous gloss of slavish minds,
The owl-eyed race, whom virtue's lustre blinds.
Spite of the learned in the ways of vice,
And all who prove that " each man has his price,"
I still believed thy end was just and free ;
And yet, even yet believe it — spite of thee.
Even tho' thy mouth impure has dared disclaim,
Urged by the wretched impotence of shame=
Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid
To laws infirm, and liberty decayed ;
Has begged Ambition to forgive the show ;
Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe ;
Has boasted in thy country's awful ear,
Her gross delusion when she held thee dear ;
How tame she followed thy tempestuous call,
And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all.
Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old,
For laws subverted, and for cities sold !
Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt,
The oaths you perjured, and the blood you spilt ;
Yet must you one untempted vileness own,
One dreadful palm reserved for him alone ;
With studied arts his country's praise to spurn,
To beg the infamy he did not earn,
To challenge hate when honour was his due,
And plead his crimes where all his virtue knew.
Do robes of state the guarded heart enclose
From each fair feeling human nature knows ?
Can pompous titles stun the enchanted ear
To all that reason, all that sense would hear ?
Else could thou e'er desert thy sacred post,
In such unthankful baseness to be lost ?
Else couldst thou wed the emptiness of vice.
And yield thy glories at an idiot's price ?

278 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO.

When they who, loud for liberty and laws,
In doubtful times had fought their country's cause,
When now of conquest and dominion sure,
They sought alone to hold their fruits secure ;
When, taught by these, oppression hid the face,
To leave corruption stronger in her place,
By silent spells to work the public fate,
And taint the vitals of the passive state,
Till healing wisdom should avail no more,
And freedom loath to tread the poisoned shore :
Then, like some guardian god that Hies to save
The weary pilgrim from an instant grave,
Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful snake
Steals near and nearer thro' the peaceful brake ;
Then Curio rose to ward the public woe
To wake the heedless, and incite the slow,
Against corruption liberty to arm,
And quell the enchantress by a mightier charm.

Swift o'er the land the fair contagion flew,
And with thy country's hopes thy honours grew.
Thee, patriot, the patrician roof confessed ;
Thy powerful voice the rescued merchant blessed ;
Of thee, with awe, the rural hearth resounds ;
The bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns ;
Touched in the sighing shade with manlier fires,
To trace thy steps the love-sick youth aspires ;
The learned recluse, who oft amazed had read
Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead,
With new amazement hears a living name
Pretend to share in such forgotten fame ;
And he who, scorning courts and courtly ways,
Left the tame track of these dejected days,
The life of nobler ages to renew
In virtues sacred from a monarch's view,
Housed by thy labours from the blest retreat,
Where social ease and public passions meet,

AN EPISTJLE TO CURIO. 279

Again ascending treads the civil scene,
To act and be a man, as thou hadst been.

Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew,
And the great end appeared at last in view :
We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice,
We saw the senate bending to thy voice ;
The friends of freedom hailed the approaching reign
Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain ;
While venal Faction, struck with new dismay,
Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandoned lay.
Waked in the shock the public Genius rose,
Abashed and keener from his long repose ;
Sublime in ancient pride, he raised the spear
Which slaves and tyrants long were wont to fear.
The city felt his call : from man to man,
From street to street, the glorious horror ran :
Each crowded haunt was stirred beneath his power,
And, murmuring, challenged the decided hour.

Lo ! the deciding hour at last appears ;
The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears.
Thou, Genius! guardian of the Roman name,
Oh ! ever prompt tyrannic rage to tame,
Instruct the mighty moments as they roll,
And guide each movement steady to the goal.
Ye spirits by whose providential art
Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart,
Keep, keep the best in view to Curio's mind,
And watch his fancy, and his passions bind.
Ye shades immortal, who, by Freedom led,
Or in the field or on the scaffold bled,
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye,
And view the crown of all your labours nigh.
See Freedom mounting her eternal throne ;
The sword submitted, and the laws her own ;
See public Power chastised beneath her stands.
With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands.

280 AN EPIbTLE TO CURIO.

See private Life by wisest arts reclaimed ;
See ardent youth to noblest manners framed ,
See us acquire whate'er was sought by you,
If Curio, only Curio will be true.

'Twas then — O shame ! O trust how ill repaid !
O Latium, oft by faithless sons betrayed ! —
'Twas then — What frenzy on thy reason stole ?
What spells unsinewed thy determined soul ?-—
Is this the man in Freedom's cause approved ?
The man so great, so honoured, so beloved ?
This patient slave by tinsel chains allured ?
This wretched suitor for a boon abjured?
This Curio, hated and despised by all ?
Who fell himself to work his country's fall ?

Oh ! lost alike to action and repose ;
Unknown, unpitied in the worst of woes ;
With all that conscious, undissembled pride,
Sold to the insults of a foe defied :
With all that habit of familiar fame,
Doomed to exhaust the dregs of life in shame.
The sole sad refuge of thy bafiied art
To act a statesman's dull, exploded part,
Renounce the praise no longer in thy power,
Display thy virtue, though without a dower,
Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind,
And shut thy eyes that others may be blind.
Forgive me, Romans, that I bear to smile,
When shameless mouths your majesty defile,
Paint you a thoughtless, frantic, headlong crew,
And cast their own impieties on you.
For witness, Freedom, to whose sacred power
My soul was vowed from reason's earliest hour,
How have I stood, exulting to survey
My country's virtues, opening in thy ray !
How, with the sons of every foreign shore
The more I matched them, honoured hers the more !

AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 281

O race erect! whose native strength of soul,

Which kings, nor priests, nor sordid laws control,

Bursts the tame round of animal affairs,

And seeks a noble centre for its cares ;

Intent the laws of life to comprehend,

And fix dominion's limits by its end.

Who, bold and equal in their love or hate,

By conscious reason judging every state,

The man forget not, though in rags he lies,

And know the mortal through a crown's disguise :

Thence prompt alike with witty scorn to view

Fastidious Grandeur lift his solemn brow,

Or, all awake at pity's soft command,

Bend the mild ear, and stretch the gracious hand :

Thence large of heart, from envy far removed,

When public toils to virtue stand approved,

Not the young lover fonder to admire,

IsTot more indulgent the delighted sire ;

Yet high and jealous of their free-born name,

Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame,

Where'er Oppression works her wanton sway,

Proud to confront, and dreadful to repay.

But if to purchase Curio's sage applause,

My country must with him renounce her cause,

Quit with a slave the path a patriot trod,

Bow the meek knee, and kiss the regal rod ;

Then still, ye powers, instruct his tongue to rail,

Nor let his zeal, nor let his subject fail :

Else, ere he change the style, bear me away

To where the Gracchi,1 where the Bruti stay.

1 The two brothers, Tiberius and Cams Gracchus, lost
their live3 in attempting to introduce the only regulation
that could give stability and good order to the Roman
republic. L. Junius Brutus founded the commonwealth,
and died in its defence.

282 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO.

O long revered, and late resigned to shame !
If this uncourtly page thy notice claim,
When the loud cares of business are withdrawn,
Nor well-drest beggars round thy footsteps fawn ;
In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour,
When truth exerts her unresisted power,
Breaks the false optics tinged with fortune's glare,
Unlocks the breast, and lays the passions bare ;
Then turn thy eyes on that important scene,
And ask thyself if all be well within.
Where is the heart-felt worth and weight of soul,
Which labour could not stop, nor fear control ?
Where the known dignity, the stamp of awe,
Which, half abashed, the proud and venal saw ?
Where the calm triumphs of an honest, cause ?
Where the delightful taste of just applause ?
Wrhere the strong reason, the commanding tongue,
On which the senate fired, or trembling hung ?
All vanished, all are sold ; and in their room,
Couched in thy bosom's deep, distracted gloom,
See the pale form of barbarous Grandeur dwell,
Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell !
To her in chains thy dignity was led ;
At her polluted shrine thy honour bled ;
AVith blasted weeds thy awful brow she crowned ;
Thy powerful tongue with poisoned philters bound,
That baffled reason straight indignant flew,
And fair persuasion from her seat withdrew :
For now no longer truth supports thy cause ;
No longer glory prompts thee to applause ;
No longer virtue, breathing in thy breast,
With all her conscious majesty confest,
Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty flame,
To rouse the feeble, and the wilful tame,
And where she sees the catching glimpses roll,
Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the soul ;

AN' EPISTLE TO CURIO. 283

But cold restraints thy conscious fancy chill,
And formal passions mock thy struggling will;
Or, if thy genius e'er forget his chain,
And reach, impatient, at a nobler strain,
Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth
Shoot thro' thy breast, and stab the generous birth,
Till, blind with smart, from truth to frenzy tost,
And all the tenor of thy reason lost,
Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear ;
While some with pity, some with laughter hear.
Can art, alas ! or genius, guide the head,
Where truth and freedom from the heart are fled ?
Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke,
When the prime function of the soul is broke ?
But come, unhappy man ! thy fates impend ;
Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou hast a friend ;
Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like thine,
Renounce thy titles, and thy robes resign ;
For see the hand of destiny displayed
To shut thee from the joys thou hast betrayed.
See the dire fane of Infamy arise :
Dark as the grave, and spacious as the skies ;
Where, from the first of time, thy kindred train,
The chiefs and princes of the unjust remain.
Eternal barriers guard the pathless road
To warn the wanderer of the curst abode;
But prone as whirlwinds scour the passive sky,
The heights surmounted, down the steep they fly.
There, black with frowns, relentless time awaits,
And goads their footsteps to the guilty gates ;
And still he asks them of their unknown aims,
Evolves their secrets, and their guilt proclaims ;
And still his hands despoil them, on the road,
Of each vain wreath, by lying bards bestowed;
Break their proud marbles, crush their festal cars,
And rend the lawless trophies of their wars.

284 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO,

At last the gates his potent voice obey ;
Fierce to their dark abode he drives his prey ;
Where, ever armed with adamantine chains,
The watchful demon o'er her vassals reigns,
O'er mighty names and giant-powers of lust,
The great, the sage, the happy, and august.1
ISTo gleam of hope their baleful mansion cheers,
No sound of honour hails their unblest ears ;
But dire reproaches from the friend betrayed,
The childless sire, and violated maid ;
But vengeful vows for guardian laws effaced,
From towns enslaved, and continents laid waste ;
But long posterity's united groan,
And the sad charge of horrors not their own,
For ever through the trembling space resound,
And sink each impious forehead to the ground.

Ye mighty foes of liberty and rest,
Give way, do homage to a mightier guest !
Ye daring spirits of the Roman race,
See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface !- —
Awed at the name, fierce Appius2 rising bends,
And hardy Cinna from his throne attends :
" He comes," they cry, " to whom the fates assigned
With surer arts to work what we designed,
From year to year the stubborn herd to sway,
Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage obey ;
Till owned their guide, and trusted with their power,
He mocked their hopes in one decisive hour ;
Then, tired and yielding, led them to the chain,
And quenched the spirit we provoked in vain."

1 Titles which have been generally ascribed to the
most pernicious of men.

2 Appius Claudius the Decemvir, and L. Cornelius
Cinna, both attempted to establish a tyrannical dominion
in Rome, and both perished by the treason.

AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 285

But thou, Supreme ! by whose eternal bands
Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands ;
Whose thunders the rebellious deep control,
And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul,
Oh, turn this dreadful omen far away !
On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay :
Relume her sacred fire so near suppressed,
And fix her shrine in every Roman breast :
Though bold corruption boast around the land,
" Let virtue, if she can, my baits withstand ?"
Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim,
Gay with her trophies raised on Curio's shame ;
Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth,
Who know what conscience and a heart are worth.
O friend and father of the human mind,
Whose art for noblest ends our frame designed !
If I, though fated to the studious shade
Which party- strife, nor anxious power invade,
If I aspire in public virtue's cause,
To guide the Muses by sublimer laws,
Do thou her own authority impart,
And give my numbers entrance to the heart.
Perhaps the verse might rouse her smothered flame.
And snatch the fainting patriot back to fame :
Perhaps by worthy thoughts of human kind,
To worthy deeds exalt the conscious mind ;
Or dash corruption in her proud career,
And teach her slaves that vice was born to fear.

THE VIRTUOSO:*

IN IMITATION OF SPENSER S STYLE AND STANZA,

Nugari solitos.

-Yidemus

PERSIUS.

\ HILOM by silver Thames's gentle
stream,
In London town there dwelt a subtile
wight ;

A wight of mickle wealth, and mickle fame,
Book-learned and quaint ; a Virtuoso bight.
Uncommon things, and rare, were his delight ;
From musings deep his brain ne'er gotten ease,
Nor ceasen he from study, day or night ;
Until (advancing onward by degrees)
He knew whatever breeds on earth, or air, or seas.

He many a creature did anatomize,
Almost unpeopling water, air, and land ;
Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars, flies,
Were laid full low by his relentless hand,
That oft with gory crimson was distained :
He many a dog destroyed, and many a cat ;
Of fleas his bed, of frogs the marshes drained,
Could tellen if a mite were lean or fat,
And read a lecture o'er the entrails of a gnat.

First published in the Gentleman'' § Mag. for April,

1737.

THE VIRTUOSO. 287

He knew the various modes of ancient times,
Their arts and fashions of each different guise,
Their weddings,funerals, punishments for crimes,
Their strength, their learning eke, and rarities ;
Of old habiliments, each sort and size,
Male, female, high and low, to him were known ;
Each gladiator-dress, and stage disguise ;
With learned, clerkly phrase he couldhave shown
How the Greek tunic differed from the Roman
gown.

A curious medallist, I wot, he was.
And boasted many a course of ancient coin ;
Well as his wife's he knewen every face,
From Julius Caesar down to Constantine :
For some rare sculptor he would oft ypine,
(As green-sick damosels for husbands do ;)
And when obtained, with enraptured eyne,
He'd run it o'er and o'er with greedy view,
And look, and look again, as he would look it
through.

His rich museum, of dimensions fair, [fraught :
With goods that spoke the owner's mind was
Things ancient, curious, value-worth, and rare,
From sea and land, from Greece and Rome

were brought,
Which he with mighty sums of gold had bought :
On these all tides with joyous eyes he pored ;
And, sooth to say, himself he greater thought,
When he beheld his cabinets thus stored,
Than if he'd been of Albion's wealthy cities lord.

Here, in a corner, stood a rich scrutoire,
With many a curiosity replete ;
In seemly order furnished every drawer,
Products of art or nature as was meet ;

288 THE VIRTUOSO.

Air-pumps and prisms were placed beneath his

feet,
A Memphian mummy-king bung o'er bis bead ;
Here phials with live insects small and great,
There stood a tripod of the Pythian maid ;
Above, a crocodile diffused a grateful shade.

Fast by the window did a table stand,
Where hodiern and antique rarities, [land,

From Egypt, Greece, and Rome, from sea and
Were thick-besprent of every sort and size :
Here a Bahaman-spider's carcass lies,
There a dire serpent's golden skin doth shine ;
Here Indian feathers, fruits, and glittering flies ;
There gums and amber found beneath the line,
The beak of Ibis here, and there an Antonine.

Close at his back, or whispering in his ear,
There stood a spright ycleped Phantasy ;
Which, wheresoe'er he went, was always near :
Her look was wild, and roving was her eye ;
Her hair was clad with flowers of every dye ;
Her glistering robes were of more various hue,
Than the fair bow that paints the cloudy sky,
Or all the spangled drops of morning dew ;
Their colour changing still at every different view.

Yet in this shape all tides she did not stay,
Various as the chameleon that she bore ;
Now a grand monarch with a crown of hay, -
Now mendicant in silks and golden ore : ... -
A statesman now, equipped to chase the boar,
Or cowled monk, lean, feeble, and unfed ;
A clown-like lord, or swain of courtly lore
Now scribbling dunce in sacred laurel clad*
Or papal father now, in homely weeds arrayed.

THE VIRTUOSO. 289

The wight whose brain this phantom's power doth
fill,

On whom she doth with constant care attend,
Will for a dreadful giant take a mill,

Or a grand palace in a hog-sty find :
(From her dire influence me may Heaven defend !)

All things with vitiated sight he spies ;
Neglects his family, forgets his friend,

Seeks painted trifles and fantastic toys,

And eagerly pursues imaginary joys.

AMBITION" AND CONTENT.*
A FABLE.

Optat quietem. hor.

&HILE yet the world was young, and
men were few,
Nor lurking fraud, nor tyrant rapine
knew,

In virtue rude, the gaudy arts they scorned,
Which, virtue lost, degenerate times adorned :
No sumptuous fabrics yet were seen to rise,
Nor gushing fountains taught to invade the skies •
With nature, art had not begun the strife,
Nor swelling marble rose to mimic life :
No pencil yet had learned to express the fair ;
The bounteous earth was all their homely care.

Then did Content exert her genial sway,
And taught the peaceful world her power to obey :

* First published in the Gentleman's Mag. for Mav,
1737.

290 AMBITION AND CONTENT.

Content, a female of celestial race,

Bright and complete in each celestial grace.

Serenely fair she was, as rising day,

And brighter than the sun's meridian ray ;

Joy of all hearts, delight of every eye,

Nor grief nor pain appeared when she was by ;

Her presence from the wretched banished care,

Dispersed the swelling sigh, and stopt the falling

tear.
Long did the nymph her regal state maintain,
As long mankind were blessed beneath her reign ;
Till dire Ambition, hellish fiend, arose,
To plague the world, and banish man's repose :
A monster sprung from that rebellious crew,
Which mighty Jove's Phlegrsean thunder slew.
Resolved to dispossess the royal fair,
On all her friends, he threatened open war :
Fond of the novelty, vain, fickle man,
In crowds to his infernal standard ran ;
And the weak maid, defenceless left alone,
To avoid his rage, was forced to quit the throne.
It chanced as wandering through the fields she

strayed,
Forsook of all, and destitute of aid,
Upon a rising mountain's flowery side
A pleasant cottage, roofed with turf, she spied :
Fast by a gloomy, venerable wood
Of shady planes and ancient oaks it stood.
Around a various prospect charmed the sight ;
Here waving harvests clad the fields with white ;
Here a rough shaggy rock the clouds did pierce,
From which a torrent rushed with rapid force ;
Here mountain-woods diffused a dusky shade ;
Here flocks and herds in flowery valleys played,
While o'er the matted grass the liquid crystal

strayed.

AMBITION AND CONTENT. 291

In this sweet place there dwelt a cheerful pair,
Though bent beneath the weight of many a year ;
Who, wisely flying public noise and strife,
In this obscure retreat had passed their life ;
The husband Industry was called, Frugality the

wife.
With tenderest friendship mutually blest,
No household jars had e'er disturbed their rest.
A numerous offspring graced their homely board,
That still with nature's simple gifts was stored.
The father rural business only knew ;
The sons the same delightful art pursue.
An only daughter, as a goddess fair,
Above the rest was the fond mother's care ;
Plenty, the brightest nymph of all the plain,
Each heart's delight, adored by every swain.
Soon as Content this charming scene espied,
Joyful within herself the goddess cried ;
" This happy sight my drooping heart doth raise ;
The gods, I hope, will grant me gentler days.
When with prosperity my life was blest,
In yonder house I've been a welcome guest :
There now, perhaps, I may protection find ;
For royalty is banished from my mind.
I'll thither haste : how happy should I be,
If such a refuge were reserved for me ! " [way

Thus spoke the fair ; and straight she bent her
To the tall mountain, where the cottage lay.
Arrived, she makes her changed condition known •
Tells how the rebels drove her from the throne ;
What painful, dreary wilds she wandered o'er ;
And shelter from the tyrant doth implore.

The faithful, aged pair at once were seized
With joy and grief, at once were pained and pleased;
Grief for their banished queen their hearts possest,
And joy succeeded for their future guest ;

292 AMBITION AND CONTENT.

" And if you'll deign, bright goddess, here to dwell,
And with your presence grace our humble cell,
Whate'erthe gods have given with bounteous hand,
Our harvests, fields and flocks, our all command."

Meantime, Ambition, on his rival's flight,
Sole lord of man, attained his wish's height ;
Of all dependance on his subjects eased,
He raged without a curb, and did whate'er he

pleased ;
As some wild flame, driven on by furious winds,
Wide spreads destruction, nor resistance finds ;
So rushed the fiend destructive o'er the plain,
Defaced the labours of th' industrious swain ;
Polluted every stream with human gore,
And scatteredplagues and death from shore to shore.

Great Jove beheld it from the Olympian towers,
Where sate assembled all the heavenly powers ;
Then, with a nod that shook the empyrean throne,
Thus the Saturnian thunderer begun :
" You see, immortal inmates of the skies,
How this vile wretch almighty power defies ;
His daring crimes, the blood which he has spilt,
Demand a torment equal to his guilt.
Then, Cyprian goddess, let thy mighty boy
Swift to the tyrant's guilty palace fly ;
There let him choose his sharpest, hottest dart,
And with his former rival wound his heart.
And thou, my son, (the god to Hermes said,)
Snatch up thy wand, and plume thy heels and head;
Dart through the yielding air with all thy force,
And down to Pluto's realms direct thy course ;
There rouse Oblivion from her sable cave,
"Where dull she sits by Lethe's sluggish wave ;
Command her to secure the sacred bound,
Where lives Content retired, and all around
Diffuse the deepest glooms of Stygian night,

AMBITION AND CONTENT. 293

And screen the virgin from the tyrant's sight ;
That the vain purpose of his life may try
Still to explore, what still eludes his eye."
He spoke ; loud praises shake the bright abode.
And all applaud the justice of the god.

THE POET.*

A RHAPSODY.

|F all the various lots around the ball,
Which Fate to man distributes, abso-
lute ; [son,
Avert, ye gods ! that of the Muse's
Cursed with dire poverty ! poor hungry wretch !
What shall he do for life ? he cannot work
With manual labour : shall those sacred hands,
That brought the counsels of the gods to light ;
Shall that inspired tongue, which every Muse
Has touched divine, to charm the sons of men ;
These hallowed organs ! these ! be prostitute
To the vile service of some fool in power,
All his behests submissive to perform,
Howe'er to him ingrateful ? Oh ! he scorns
The ignoble thought, with generous disdain,
More eligible deeming it to starve,
Like his famed ancestors renowned in verse,
Than poorly bend to be another's slave ;
Than feed and fatten in obscurity.

These are his firm resolves, which fate, nor time,
~Nov poverty can shake. Exalted high
In garret vile he lives ; with remnants hung

* First published in the Gentleman's 3 fag. for July,
1737.

294 THE POET.

Of tapestry. But oh ! precarious state

Of this vain transient world ! all-powerful time,

What dost thou not subdue ? See what a chasm

Gapes wide, tremendous ! see where Saul, enraged,

High on his throne, encompassed by his guards,

With levelled spear, and arm extended, sits,

Ready to pierce old Jesse's valiant son,

Spoiled of his nose ! — around in tottering ranks,

On shelves pulverulent, majestic stands

His library ; in ragged plight, and old ;

Replete with many a load of criticism,

Elaborate products of the midnight toil

Of Belgian brains ; snatched from the deadly hands

Of murderous grocer, or the careful wight,

Who vends the plant, that clads the happy shore

Of Indian Patomack ; which citizens

In balmy fumes exhale, when, o'er a pot

Of sage-inspiring coffee, they dispose

Of kings and crowns, and settle Europe's fate.

Elsewhere the dome is filled with various heaps
Of old domestic lumber : that huge chair
Has seen six monarchs fill the British throne :
Here a broad massy table stands, o'erspread
With ink and pens, and scrolls replete with rhyme :
Chests, stools, old razors, fractured jars, half full
Of muddy Zythum, sour and spiritless :
Fragments of verse, hose, sandals, utensils
Of various fashion, and of various use,
With friendly influence hide the sable floor

This is the bard's museum, this the fane
To Phoebus sacred, and the Aonian maids :
But oh ! it stabs his heart, that niggard fate
To him in such small measure should dispense
Her better gifts : to him, whose generous soul
Could relish, with as fine an elegance,
The golden joys of grandeur and of wealth ;

THE POET. 295

He who could tyrannize o'er menial slaves,
Or swell beneath a coronet of state,
Or grace a gilded chariot with a mien,
Grand as the haughtiest Timon of them all.

But 'tis in vain to rave at destiny,
Here he must rest, and brook the best he can,
To live remote from grandeur, learning, wit ;
Immured amongst th' ignoble, vulgar herd,
Of lowest intellect ; whose stupid souls
But half inform their bodies ; brains of lead
And tongues of thunder ; whose insensate breasts
Ne'er felt the rapturous, soul- entrancing fire
Of the celestial Muse ; whose savage ears
Ne'er heard the sacred rules, nor even the names
Of the Yenusian bard, or critic sage
Full-famed of Stagyra : whose clamorous tongues
Stun the tormented ear with colloquy,
Vociferate, trivial, or impertinent ;
Replete with boorish scandal ; yet, alas !
This, this, he must endure, or muse alone,
Pensive and moping o'er the stubborn rhyme,
Or line imperfect. No, the door is free,
And calls him to evade their deafening clang,
By private ambulation ; — 'tis resolved :
Off from his waist he throws the tattered gown,
Beheld with indignation ; and unloads
His pericranium of the weighty cap,
With sweat and grease discoloured : then explores
The spacious chest, and from its hollow womb
Draws his best robe, yet not from tincture free
Of age's reverend russet, scant and bare ;
Then down his meagre visage waving flows
TheTshadowy peruke ; crowned with gummy hat
Clean brushed; a cane supports him. Thus equipped
He sallies forth ; swift traverses the streets,
And seeks the lonely walk. " Hail sylvan scenes !

296 THE POET.

Ye groves, ye valleys, ye meandering brooks,
Admit me to your joys !" in rapturous phrase,
Loud he exclaims ; while with the inspiring Muse
His bosom labours ; and all other thoughts,
Pleasure and wealth, and poverty itself,
Before her influence vanish. Eapt in thought,
Fancy presents before his ravished eyes
Distant posterity upon his page [sons

With transport dwelling ; while bright Learning's
That ages hence must tread this earthly ball,
Indignant, seem to curse the thankless age,
That starved such merit. Meantime, swallowed up
In meditation deep, he wanders on,
Unweeting of his way. — But ah ! he starts
With sudden fright ; his glaring eye-balls roll,
Pale turn his cheeks, and shake his loosened joints ;
His cogitations vanish into air,
Like painted bubbles, or a morning dream.
Behold the cause ! see ! thro' the opening glade,
With rosy visage and abdomen grand,
A cit, a dun. As in Apulia's wilds,
Or where the Thracian Hebrus rolls his wave,
A heedless kid, disportive, roves around,
Unheeding, till upon the hideous cave
Of the dire wolf she treads ; half- dead she views
His bloodshot eye-balls, and his dreadful fangs,
And, swift as Eurus, from the monster flies.
So fares the trembling bard ; amazed he turns,
Scarce by his legs upborne ; yet fear supplies
The place of strength ; straight home he bends his
Nor looks behind him till he safe regain [course,
His faithful citadel ; there spent, fatigued,
He lays him down to ease his heaving lungs,
Quaking, and of his safety scarce convinced.
Soon as the panic leaves his panting breast,
Down to the Muse's sacred rites he sits,

THE POET. 297

Volumes piled round him ; see upon his brow
Perplexed anxiety, and struggling thought,
Painful as female throes : whether the bard
Display the deeds of heroes ; or the fall
Of vice, in lay dramatic ; or expand
The lyric wing ; or in elegiac strains
Lament the fair ; or lash the stubborn age
With laughing satire ; or in rural scenes
With shepherds sport ; or rack his hard-bound
For the unexpected turn. Arachne so, [brains
In dusty kitchen corner, from her bowels
Spins the fine web ; but spins with better fate
Than the poor bard. She, caitiff, spreads her
And with their aid enjoys luxurious life, [snares,
Bloated with fat of insects, fleshed in blood :
Pie, hard, hard lot ! for all his toil and care,
And painful watchings, scarce protracts awhile
His meagre, hungry days. Ungrateful world !
If with his drama he adorn the stage,
No worth-discerning concourse pays the charge,
Or of the orchestra, or the enlightening torch.
He who supports the luxury and pride
Of craving Lais ; he, whose carnage fills
Dogs, eagles, lions ; has not yet enough
Wherewith to satisfy the greedier maw
Of that most ravenous, that devouring beast,
Ycleped a poet. What new Halifax,
What Somers, or what Dorset canst thou find,
Thou hungry mortal ? break, wretch, break thy
Blot out the studied image ; to the flames [quill,
Commit the Stagyrite ; leave this thankless trade ;
Erect some pedling stall, with trinkets stocked,
There earn thy daily halfpence, nor again
Trust the false Muse ; so shall the cleanly meal
Repel intruding hunger. Oh ! 'tis vain,
The friendly admonition's all in vain ;

298 THE POET.

The scribbling itch has seized him ; he is lost
To all advice, and starves for starving's sake.

Thus sung the sportful Muse, in mirthful mood,
Indulging gay the frolic vein of youth ;
But, oh ! ye gods, avert the impending stroke
This luckless omen threatens. Hark ! methinks
I hear my better angel cry, " Retreat,
Rash youth, in time retreat ; let those poor bards,
Who slighted all, all, for the flattering Muse,
Yet, cursed with pining want, as landmarks stand,
To warn thee from the service of the m^rate."

A BRITISH PHILIPPIC :* -

OCCASIONED BY THE INSULTS OF THE SPANIARDS,

AND THE PRESENT PREPARATIONS

TOR WAR. 1738.

^HEXCE this unwonted transport in

my breast ?
Why glow my thoughts, and whither

would the Muse
Aspire with rapid wing ? Her country's cause
Demands her efforts : at that sacred call
She summons all her ardour, throws aside
The trembling lyre, and with the warrior's trump
She means to thunder in each British ear ;
And if one spark of honour or of fame,
Disdain of insult, dread of infamy,
One thought of public virtue yet survive,
She means to wake it, rouse the generous flame,
With patriot zeal inspirit every breast,

* First published in the Gentleman's Mag. for August,
1738.

A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 299

And fire each British heart with British wrongs.

Alas, the vain attempt ! what influence now
Can the Muse boast ? or what attention now
Is paid to fame or virtue ? Where is now
The British spirit, generous, warm, and brave,
So frequent wont from tyranny and woe
To free the suppliant nations ? "Where, indeed !
If that protection, once to strangers given,
Be now withheld from sons ? Each. nobler thought,
That warmed our sires, is lost and buried now
In luxury and avarice. Baneful vice !
How it unmans a nation ! yet I'll try,
I'll aim to shake this vile degenerate sloth ;
I'll dare to rouse Britannia's dreaming sons
To fame, to virtue, and impart around
A generous feeling of compatriot woes.

Come then the various powers of forceful speech,
All that can move, awaken, fire, transport.
Come the bold ardour of the Theban bard ;
The arousing thunder of the patriot Greek ;
The soft persuasion of the Roman sage ;
Come all, and raise me to an equal height,
A rapture worthy of my glorious cause ;
Lest my best efforts, failing, should debase
The sacred theme ; for with no common wing
The Muse attempts to soar. Yet what need these ?
My country's fame, my free-born British heart,
Shall be my best inspirers, raise my flight
High as the Theban' s pinion, and with more
Than Greek or Roman flame exalt my soul.
Oh ! could I give the vast ideas birth,
Expressive of the thoughts that flame within,
£To more should lazy luxury detain
Our ardent youth ; no more should Britain's sons
Sit tamely passive by, and careless hear
The prayers, sighs, groans, (immortal infamy !)

300 A BRITISH PHILIPPIC.

Of fellow Britons, with oppression sunk,
In bitterness of soul demanding aid,
Calling on Britain, their dear native land,
The land of Liberty ; so greatly famed
For just redress ; the land so often dyed
With her best blood, for that arousing cause,
The freedom of her sons ; those sons that now,
Far from the manly blessings of her sway,
Drag the vile fetters of a Spanish lord.
And dare they, dare the vanquished sons of Spain
Enslave a Briton ? Have they then forgot,
So soon forgot, the great, the immortal day,
When rescued Sicily with joy beheld
The swift-winged thunder of the British arm
Disperse their navies ? when their coward bands
Fled, like the raven from the bird of Jove,
From swift impending vengeance fled in vain ?
Are these our lords ? And can Britannia see
Her foes oft vanquished, thus defy her power,
Insult her standard, and enslave her sons,
And not arise to justice ? Did our sires,
Unawed by chains, by exile, or by death,
Preserve inviolate her guardian rights,
And sacred even to Britons ! that their sons
Might give them up to Spaniards ? Turn your

eyes,
Turn ye degenerate, who with haughty boast
Call yourselves Britons, to that dismal gloom,
That dungeon dark and deep, where never thought
Of joy or peace can enter; see the gates
Harsh-creaking open ; what a hideous void,
Dark as the yawning grave ! while still as death
A frightful silence reigns. There, on the ground,
Behold your brethren chained like beasts of prey :
There mark your numerous glories, there behold
The look that speaks unutterable woe ;

A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 301

The mangled limb, the faint, the deathful eye,
With famine sunk, the deep heart- bursting groan
Suppressed in silence ; view the loathsome food,
Refused by dogs and, oh, the stinging thought !
View the dark Spaniard glorying in their wrongs,
The deadly priest triumphant in their woes,
And thundering worse damnation on their souls :
While that pale form, in all the pangs of death,
Too faint to speak, yet eloquent of all,
His native British spirit yet untamed,
Raises his head ; and with indignant frowns
Of great defiance, and superior scorn,
Looks up and dies. — Oh ! I am all on fire !
But let me spare the theme, lest future times
Should blush to hear that either conquered Spain
Durst offer Britain such outrageous wrong,
Or Britain tamely bore it.
Descend, ye guardian heroes of the land !
Scourges of Spain, descend ! Behold your sons ;
See how they run the same heroic race,
How prompt, how ardent in their country's cause,
How greatly proud to assert their British blood,
And in their deeds reflect their fathers' fame.
Ah ! would to heaven ye did not rather see
How dead to virtue in the public cause,
How cold, how careless, how, to glory deaf,
They shame your laurels, and belie their birth !
Come, ye great spirits, Ca'ndish, Raleigh, Blake !
And ye of later name, your country's pride,
Oh ! come, disperse these lazy fumes of sloth,
Teach British hearts with British fires to glow :
In wakening whispers rouse our ardent youth,
Blazon the triumphs of your better days,
Paint all the glorious scenes of rightful war
In all its splendours ; to their swelling souls
Say how ye bowed th' insulting Spaniards' pride,

302 A BRITISH PHILIPPIC*

Say how ye thundered o'er their prostrate heads,
Say how ye broke their lines and fired their ports,
Say how not death, in all its frightful shapes,
Could damp your souls, or shake the great resolve
For right and Britain ; then display the joys
The patriot's soul exalting, while he views
Transported millions hail with loud acclaim
The guardian of their civil, sacred rights.
How greatly welcome to the virtuous man
Is death for others' good ! the radiant thoughts
That beam celestial on his passing soul,
Th' unfading crowns awaiting him above,
Th' exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme,
Who in his actions with complacence views
His own reflected splendour ; then descend,
Though to a lower, yet a nobler scene ;
Paint the just honours to his reliques paid,
Show grateful millions weeping o'er his grave ;
While his fair fame in each progressive age
For ever brightens ; and the wise and good
Of every land, in universal choir,
With richest incense of undying praise
His urn encircle, to the wondering world
His numerous triumphs blazon ; while with awe,
With filial reverence, in his steps they tread,
And, copying every virtue, every fame,
Transplant his glories into second life,
And, with unsparing hand, make nations blest
By his example. Vast, immense rewards !
For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind
Encounters here. Yet, Britons, are ye cold?
Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call
Of your poor injured countrymen ? Ah ! no :
I see ye are not ; every bosom glows
With native greatness, and in all its state
The British spirit rises : glorious change !

A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 303

Fame, virtue, freedom, welcome ! Oli ! forgive
The Muse, that, ardent in her sacred cause,
Your glory questioned; she beholds with joy,
She owns, she triumphs in her wished mistake.

See ! from her sea-beat throne in awful march
Britannia towers : upon her laurel crest
The plumes majestic nod ; behold she heaves
Her guardian shield, and, terrible in arms,
For battle shakes her adamantine spear :
Loud at her foot the British lion roars,
Frighting the nations ; haughty Spain full soon
Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons, forth,
Your country's daring champions ; tell your foes,
Tell them in thunders o'er their prostrate land,
You were not born for slaves : let all your deeds
Show that the sons of those immortal men,
The stars of shining story, are not slow
In virtue's path to emulate their sires,
T' assert their country's rights, avenge her sons,
And hurl the bolts of justice on her foes.

HYMN TO SCIENCE.*

" 0 vitas Philosophia dux ! 0 virtutis indagatrix, ex-
pultrixque vitiorum. — Tu urbes peperisti ; tu inventrix
legum, tu magistra morum et discipline fuisti : Ad te
confugimus, a te opem petimus." — Cic. Tus. Qu. lib. v. c. 2.

^CIENCE ! thou fair effusive ray
From the great source of mental day,

Free, generous, and refined !
Descend with all thy treasures fraught,
Illumine each bewildered thought,
And bless my labouring mind.

* First published in the Gmilemanh Mag. for Oct.
1739.

304 HYMN TO SCIENCE.

But first with thy resistless light
Disperse those phantoms from my sight,

Those mimic shades of thee :
The scholiast's learning, sophist's cant,
The visionary bigot's rant,

The monk's philosophy.

Oh ! let thy powerful charms impart
The patient head, the candid heart,

Devoted to thy sway ;
Which no weak passions e'er mislead,
Which still with dauntless steps proceed

Where reason points the way.

Give me to learn each secret cause ;
Let number's, figure's, motion's laws

Revealed before me stand ;
These to great Nature's scenes apply,
And round the globe, and through the sky,

Disclose her working hand.

Next, to thy nobler search resigned,
The busy, restless, human mind

Through every maze pursue ;
Detect perception where it lies,
Catch the ideas as they rise,

And all their changes view.

Say from what simple springs began
The vast ambitious thoughts of man,

Which range beyond control,
Which seek eternity to trace,
Dive through the infinity of space,

And strain to grasp the whole.

Her secret stores let memory tell,
Bid Fancy quit her fairy cell,
In all her colours drest ;

HYMN TO SCIENCE. 005

While, prompt her sallies to control.
Reason, the judge, recalls the soul
To Truth's severest test.

Then launch through being's wide extent ;
Let the fair scale with just ascent

And cautious steps be trod ;
And from the dead, corporeal mass,
Through each progressive order, pass

To Instinct, Reason, God.

There, Science, veil thy daring eye ;
"Nor dive too deep, nor soar too high,

In that divine abyss ;
To faith content thy beams to lend,
Her hopes t' assure, her steps befriend

And light her way to bliss.

Then downwards take thy flight again,
Mix with the policies of men,

And social nature's ties ;
The plan, the genius of each state,
Its interest and its powers relate,

Its fortunes and its rise.

Through private life pursue thy course,
Trace every action to its source,

And means and motives weigh :
Put tempers, passions, in the scale ;
Mark what degrees in each prevail,

And fix the doubtful sway.

That last best effort of thy skill,
To form the life, and rule the will,

Propitious power ! impart :
Teach me to cool my passion's fires,
Make me the judge of my desires,

The master of my heart.
x

306 HYMN TO SCIENCE.

Eaise me above the vulgar's breath,
Pursuit of fortune, fear of death,

And all in life that's mean :
Still true to reason be my plan,
Still let my actions speak the man,

Through every various scene.

Hail ! queen of manners, light of truth ;
Hail ! charm of age, and guide of youth ;

Sweet refuge of distress :
In business, thou, exact, polite ;
Thou giv'st retirement its delight,

Prosperity its grace.

Of wealth, power, freedom, thou the cause ;
Foundress of order, cities, laws ;

Of arts inventress thou :
Without thee, what were human-kind ?
How vast their wants, their thoughts how blind !

Their joys how mean, how few !

Sun of the soul ! thy beams unveil :
Let others spread the daring sail,

On Fortune's faithless sea :
While, undeluded, happier I
From the vain tumult timely fly,

And sit in peace with thee.

LOVE,*

AN ELEGY.

00 much my heart of beauty's power
hath known,
Too long to Love hath reason left her
throne ;

* Printed about 1740 for private distribution, and first
published in The New Foundling Hospital of Wit, vol. vi.
p. 23. edit. 1773.

LOVE.

1307

Too long my genius mourned his myrtle chain,
And three rich years of youth consumed in vain.
My wishes, lulled with soft inglorious dreams,
Forgot the patriot's and the sage's themes :
Through each Elysian vale and fairy grove,
Through all the enchanted paradise of love,
Misled by sickly hope's deceitful flame,
Averse to action, and renouncing fame.

At last the visionary scenes decay,
My eyes, exulting, bless the new-born day,
Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road
In which my heedless feet securely trod,
And strip the phantoms of their lying charms
That lured my soul from "Wisdom's peaceful arms.

For silver streams and banks bespread with
flowers,
For mossy couches and harmonious bowers,
Lo ! barren heaths appear, and pathless woods,
And rocks hung dreadful o'er unfathomed floods :
For openness of heart, for tender smiles, [wiles ;
Looks fraught with love, and wrath-disarming
Lo ! sullen spite, and perjured lust of gain,
And cruel pride, and crueller disdain ;
Lo ! cordial faith to idiot airs refined,
Now coolly civil, now transporting kind.
For graceful ease, lo ! affectation walks ;
And dull half-sense, for wit and wisdom talks.
New to each hour what low delight succeeds,
What precious furniture of hearts and heads!
By nought their prudence, but by getting, known.
And all their courage in deceiving shown.

See next what plagues attend the lover's state,
What frightful forms of terror, scorn, and hate !
See burning fury heaven and earth defy !
See dumb despair in icy fetters lie !
See black suspicion bend his gloomy brow,
The hideous image of himself to view !

308 LOVE.

And fond belief, with all a lovers flame,

Sink in those arms that point his head with shame !

There wan dejection, faltering as he goes,

In shades and silence vainly seeks repose ;

Musing through pathless wilds, consumes the day,

Then, lost in darkness, weeps the hours away.

Here the gay crowd of luxury advance,

Some touch the lyre, and others urge the dance ;

On every head the rosy garland glows,

In every hand the golden goblet flows.

The syren views them with exulting eyes,

And laughs at bashful virtue as she flies.

But see behind, where scorn and want appear,

The grave remonstrance and the witty sneer ;

See fell remorse in action, prompt to dart

Her snaky poison through the conscious heart ;

And sloth to cancel, with oblivious shame,

The fair memorial of recording fame.

Are these delights that one would wish to gain ?
Is this the Elysium of a sober brain ?
To wait for happiness in female smiles,
Bear all her scorn, be caught with all her wiles,
With prayers, with bribes, with lies, her pity crave,
Bless her hard bonds, and boast to be her slave ;
To feel, for trifles, a distracting train
Of hopes and terrors, equally in vain ;
This hour to tremble, and the next to glow,
Can pride, can sense, can reason, stoop so low ?
When virtue, at an easier price, displays
The sacred wreaths of honourable praise ;
When wisdom utters her divine decree,
To laugh at pompous folly, and be free.

I bid adieu, then, to these woful scenes ;
I bid adieu to all the sex of queens ;
Adieu to every suffering, simple soul,
That lets a woman's will his ease control.

LOVE. 309

There laugh, ye witty ; and rebuke, ye grave !
For me, I scorn to boast that I'm a slave.
I bid the whining brotherhood be gone ;
Joy to my heart ! my wishes are my own.
Farewell the female heaven, the female hell ;
To the great God of Love a glad farewell.
Is this the triumph of thy awful name ;
Are these the splendid hopes that urged thy aim,
When first my bosom owned thy haughty sway ?
When thus Minerva heard thee, boasting, say,
" Go, martial maid, elsewhere thy arts employ,
Nor hope to shelter that devoted boy.
Go, teach the solemn sons of care and age,
The pensive statesman and the midnight sage ;
The young with me must other lessons prove,
Youth calls for pleasure, pleasure calls for love.
Behold, his heart thy grave advice disdains ;
Behold, I bind him in eternal chains."
Alas ! great Love, how idle was the boast !
Thy chains are broken, and thy lessons lost ;
Thy wilful rage has tired my suffering heart,
And passion, reason, forced thee to depart.
But wherefore dost thou linger on thy way ?
Why vainly search for some pretence to stay,
When crowds of vassals court thy pleasing yoke,
And countless victims bow them to the stroke ?
Lo ! round thy shrine a thousand youths advance,
Warm with the gentle ardours of romance ;
Each longs to assert thy cause with feats of arms,
And make the world confess Dulcinea's charms.
Ten thousand girls, with flowery chaplets crowned,
To groves and streams thy tender triumph sound :
Each bids the stream in murmurs speak her flame,
Each calls the grove to sigh her shepherd's name.
But, if thy pride such easy honour scorn,
If nobler trophies must thy toil adorn,

310 LOVE.

Behold yon flowery antiquated maid,
Bright in the bloom of threescore years displayed :
Her shalt thou bind in thy delightful chains,
And thrill with gentle pangs her withered veins,
Her frosty cheek with crimson blushes dye,
With dreams of rapture melt her maudlin eye.
Turn then thy labours to the servile crowd,
Entice the wary, and control the proud ;
Make the sad miser his best gains forego,
The solemn statesman sigh to be a beau,
The bold coquette with fondest passion burn,
The Bacchanalian o'er his bottle mourn ;
And that chief glory of thy power maintain,
" To poise ambition in a female brain."
Be these thy triumphs ; but no more presume
That my rebellious heart will yield thee room :
I know thy puny force, thy simple wiles ;
I break triumphant through thy flimsy toils ;
I see thy dying lamp's last languid glow,
Thy arrows blunted and unbraced thy bow.
I feel diviner fires my breast inflame,
To active science, and ingenuous fame ;
Resume the paths my earliest choice began,
And lose, with pride, the lover in the man.

TO CORDELIA.*

JULY 1740.

^ROM pompous life's dull masquerade,
From pride's pursuits and passion's

war,
Far, my Cordelia, very far,
To thee and me may Heaven assign

* Found in an edition of Akenside's Works published,
in 2 vols., at New Brunswick, 1808.

TO CORDELIA. 311

The silent pleasures of the shade,

The joys of peace, unenvied, though divine.

Safe in the calm embowering grove,
As thy own lovely brow serene,
Behold the world's fantastic scene !
What low pursuits employ the great,
What tinsel things their wishes move,
The forms of fashion and the toys of state.

In vain are all contentment's charms ;
Her placid mien, her cheerful eye,
For look, Cordelia, how they fly :

Allured by power, applause, or gain,

They fly her kind protecting arms ;

Ah ! blind to pleasure, and in love with pain.

Turn and indulge a fairer view,

Smile on the joys which here conspire ;
O joys ! harmonious as my lyre :

O prospect of enchanting things !

As ever slumbering poet knew,

When love and fancy wrapt him in their wings.

Here no rude storm of passion blows,

But sports, and smiles, and virtues play,
Cheered by affection's purest ray ;

The air still breathes contentment's balm,

And the clear stream of pleasure flows

For ever active, vet for ever calm.

SONG.*

HE shape alone let others prize.
The features of the fair :
I look for spirit in her eyes,
And meaning in her air.

Attributed to Aken^ide bv Ritson— "English Song

012

SONG.

A damask cheek, an ivory arm,

Shall ne'er my wishes win ;
Give me an animated form,

That speaks a mind within.

A face where awful honour shines,
Where sense and sweetness move,

And angel innocence refines
The tenderness of love.

These are the soul of beauty's frame,

Without whose vital aid,
Unfinished all her features seem,

And all her roses dead.

But ah ! where both their charms unite,

How perfect is the view,
With every image of delight,

With graces ever new :

Of power to charm the greatest woe,

The wildest rage control,
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow,

And rapture through the soul.

Their power but faintly to express,
All language must despair ;

But go, behold Arpasia's face,
And read it perfect there.

THE END.

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